


'My Own'

by pushupindrag



Series: Dragon!Jaskier AU [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Eating, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Dragon Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Getting Together, Kaer Morhen, Light Angst, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Possessive Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Season/Series 01, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 43,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23196232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushupindrag/pseuds/pushupindrag
Summary: Jaskier has been hiding his draconic 'heritage' for as long as he could remember. And travelling with Geralt and Ciri, it didn't seem to be an issue. That is until a notice comes up about hunting dragons.All of a sudden, everything is thrown into disarray as he has to face feelings and impulses he had been suppressing for years, nothing seems safe anymore. Geralt tries to fix it.“No, we need to keep Ciri safe first I-.”This whole interaction is too intense for him to even begin to comprehend. Fear grips him from all angles, practically strangling him as he just tries to breathe. And then of course there's Geralt being so soft with him, something he only did in small moments. It hurts seeing Geralt so scared for him.“Geralt-”“It’s okay. We’ll get you out of here. I won’t let them hurt you, I promise.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Dragon!Jaskier AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683490
Comments: 169
Kudos: 1733





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So! I saw these [two](https://sandraharissa.tumblr.com/post/190844990070/first-there-was-elfjaskier-then-there-was) [posts](https://valdomarx.tumblr.com/post/190884613074/the-witcher-au-jaskier-as-a-red-dragontheir%22) and my brain completely ran wild with them!
> 
> All of this is based on the Netflix show and some of the wiki I found so i'm really sorry about how much of this will be OOC!
> 
> Trigger Warnings  
> \- Panic Attacks  
> \- Vomiting  
> \- Descriptions of hunting animals for food purposes
> 
> Un-beta'd so please let me know if you find any mistakes!
> 
> Come chat to me about these idiots on my tumblr [here!](https://valleyofwitcher.tumblr.com/ask) if you want!
> 
> EDIT: Now split into two chapters to hopefully make it a little easier to read!

Jaskier had kept his heritage hidden for as long as he could remember. It was probably decades, although he got time muddled when he had started lying about his actual age. It came as easy as breathing as this point, keeping things quiet, keeping his impulses under control. 

Nobody would look twice at a mouthy bard that worked for coin and then immediately spent it. Or a bard who travelled, unable to hoard anything other than possibly a few sets of clothes, and those could be explained away with a hand wave and a huff about how extravagant and unnecessary bard’s tended to act. He walked from place to place, leaving footprints and music in his wake and if they stopped at nightfall with no explanation and he turned up elsewhere. Nobody would question enough to suspect a thing.

Nobody would suspect that he was actually a dragon.

And the people who could tell, well. He either got out of that particular place in a hurry. Or, more recently, he found that they didn’t care.

He knew that Geralt knew. With that witcher sense of his, he had to. But he hadn’t ever brought it up. And he had had plenty of chances to in the decade that Jaskier had stayed by his side, but he hadn’t. So Jaskier hadn’t mentioned it either.

Yennefer had simply looked at him up and down and smiled, feral and gleeful. But she had never said a word, never in one of their sniping moments back and forth. She had kept quiet. Because of course him being a dragon meant nothing to her. He was not a threat. Especially not since she had left Geralt's side. Their relationship had been something Jaskier had watched in silence and pain. But he had kept quiet, and not interfered, so he hadn’t been a threat and it wasn’t remarked upon.

Ciri knew something was off. Her magic just enough to be able to detect Jaskier’s own inherent magic. And as a child does, she had asked question upon question over the two years that Jaskier and Geralt had been raising her. After her nightmares, when he would never refuse to answer. Or at odd points, when he was so off guard answers would slip out without meaning too. So she probably had an inkling, especially with her educated background. But he hoped there’d be another few years before she properly knew. She didn’t seem to care yet though.

And while it was nice that none of them cared and Jaskier was so grateful his heart hurt with it sometimes, ultimately it was a problem. Because he hadn’t bonded with anybody since his family. And they had left him so long ago he had sworn never to do that again. So whenever he had any impulses to bond, to get close, he had had to leave.

It was easy with Geralt, letting him and the witcher swan in and out of eachothers lives as often as destiny would allow. And despite his feelings for the witcher, he always made himself leave when he thought he was getting too close.

But now he was helping raise Ciri. And he couldn’t just leave.

His feelings for the witcher he could hide. Love was something he felt often and freely enough that his actions weren’t out of the ordinary around Geralt. His affection was expected at this point and tolerated with a begrudging smile most of the time. It had been long enough that his pining was so ingrained in their behaviour it wasn’t seen as something unusual. So he let himself pine in the quiet, and had left when he needed somewhere to patch back up his cracked heart.

Unrequited love had been good for business.

He can’t leave now though, and when he has to for work it’s never for too long. Because Ciri needed him. Even more so because Geralt needed him. And he could never say no to Geralt.

It was the dragon in him. The possessive nature. Geralt was his witcher. His witcher to protect and care for. And that meant coming to his aid whenever he needed it. And looking after Ciri, he needed it.

It had barely been two weeks with the child when the protective and possessive nature had started to include Ciri. And Jaskier refused to deny himself something that would mean keeping the child safe.

That had been about two years ago. And they had only continued since.

Now, as the colder months drew close they had based themselves in a smaller town up north until they couldn’t find work and would have to move on again. But that didn’t seem soon as the town was surrounded by woods, full of creatures that needed slaying, and the colder months meant people wanted entertainment during the cold nights, huddled around the large fire at the tavern.

They had managed to find a two roomed cottage to rent during their stay, the home itself barely bigger than two inn rooms put together. But it was clean, and empty, and the smaller room held a rather large bath. Ciri had gotten the bed, and Geralt slept in that when Ciri wasn’t occupying it. Jaskier himself had given in to his impulses and created a blanket nest in the empty corner at the end of the bed. Complete with extra pillows and blankets that Geralt had somehow acquired for him. Jaskier hadn’t asked, just beamed at Geralt who had only grunted. But Jaskier had seen the small smile on his face before he turned away.

-

It was dark out now. And Jaskier had let the fire in the hearth reduce itself to a smoulder as he curls up by the warmth, waiting for Geralt to come back from a hunt. The steady breathing of Ciri in the bed keeps him calm as he sits, notebook out as he writes another heartfelt ballad. The notebook was his secret one, the one full of songs he could never play in front of Geralt lest he catch on. Most were obvious, almost close to revealing who the ‘you’ in each song was. So he kept the songs to himself unless Geralt and Ciri were out of earshot.

He’s just closed the notebook to rub at his eyes tiredly when Geralt bursts in. Frantic, his eyes scan the room, and although when he looks at Ciri his eyes only soften slightly, it’s when they fall on Jaskier that they soften completely. Quickly he turns and locks the door, quietly putting his swords by the side table before quickly walking over the fire to kneel at Jaskiers feet.

Frowning again, his eyes dart across the room, and when he speaks it’s a low growl. “We have to go. Early morning. You’re not safe here.”

Whatever Jaskier was expecting, it was not that. Instantly, his heart is in his throat, breath ragged. And if Geralt didn’t look so worried his heart would be pounding from the sight of him on his knees before him rather than worry himself.

“What? Geralt-”

“They’re hunting dragons. The newest post on the board, it’s about a dragon. We need to leave tomorrow. Not arouse suspicion. Say I found work. But we need to go.”

This is one of the few times Jaskier has even seen Geralt look scared, and his breath catches as he automatically reaches a hand out to smooth over Geralt’s hair.

“I-” He can’t say anything. Because this is a few of his worst fears combined.

Geralt finally brought the fact up, the fact that he knew. And he was in danger because of it. He jumps when Geralt rests his hands on his knees. All Geralt does is scowl further, but at least Jaskier knows it’s from worry and not at him.

“I- okay. How did you. No don’t answer that, I know you- Fuck”

“Fuck.”

Jaskier lets himself breathe. In and out. Count to ten.

“I would wake Ciri up now and go but I don’t want to arouse suspicion and have them then follow us.’

“That- that’s smart.”

“I’de fight them. Of course i'd fight anyone off if they tried to hurt you. But this is easier.”

“No, we need to keep Ciri safe first I-.”

This whole interaction is too intense for him to even begin to comprehend. Fear grips him from all angles, practically strangling him as he just tries to breathe. And then of course there's Geralt being so soft with him, something he only did in small moments. It hurts seeing Geralt so scared for him.

“Geralt-”

“It’s okay. We’ll get you out of here. I won’t let them hurt you, I promise.”

With that, Jaskier breaks. He starts sobbing, silent and wrecked before he understands what’s happening.

“You knew, you knew and you-” He can’t get it out. His gratitude, his fear, anything.

“I. Jask i’m sorry.” Geralt hasn’t moved from his kneeling position on the floor and he looks at a loss for what to do.

“No it’s okay.” They’re whispering, they have to not to wake Ciri. “I knew, that you knew. That, that isn’t the problem here.”

“You knew?”

Jaskier is still crying, but the confused and surprised look on Geralt's face is enough to startle a laugh out of him.

“Well with your witcher-y.” He makes a wiggly hand gesture. “Stuff. I just assumed you would be able to tell.”

“Well you smell like one. But you never said anything.” He shrugs and Jaskier laughs again.

Running a hand over his wet face he tries to wipe away the last of his tears. ”No, so of course you wouldn’t bring it up.”

“Well, you have said that i’m? What was it? Emotionally constipated?” They both laugh then.

“Finally, you admit the truth. Maybe I should get into serious trouble more often.”

Immediately the laughter from Geralt stops and he growls. “No.”

“No?”

“If you never get into trouble this serious again it’ll be too soon.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s heart stops, but this time it’s his feelings causing the stutter rather than his fear. “You haven’t been this nice to me since you apologised.” 

It’s a joke now, because Geralt had been a lot better since he found Jaskier and had properly apologised. And normally he would laugh at Jaskier bringing it up, or roll his eyes. But now he just looks sad.

“Oh Geralt. Come on now.” He reaches out again, patting Geralt’s cheek lightly. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.” He sighs. “I’m just tense. When we’re safe-” 

Jaskier doesn’t want him to finish that sentence. “When we’re safe, I guess we should talk. I know that that’s your least favourite thing. But if you know, then both you and Ciri deserve to hear my tragic backstory.”

“I’m sure it would create a good ballad.” It’s a very weak offering from Geralt but it gets Jaskier lighting up all the same.

“And that would be one you would be forced to listen to.”

“Oh I always am. Now come on, do you think you can sleep?”

“No.” He sighs. “But I could lie down. I’m assuming you wont sleep?”

“No. But I could lie down too.”

Jaskier stands on shaky feet, but manages to make it to his nest before he collapses. He would be safe for the next few hours at least. Especially if neither he nor Geralt were sleeping. 

Once he’s settled though, he’s surprised to find Geralt lying down in front of him, practically pressing him against the back wall with his back as he faced outward.

They weren’t strangers to sharing a bedroll, and in the cold wilds they would normally have Ciri in between them to keep her warm. But if Geralt were to protect anyone, it would be the child. Which is why he’s confused as to why Geralt is in his nest rather than by the bed next to Ciri.

“Geralt?” He tries, whisper barely leaving his lips, and Geralt shrugs.

“Try and get some sleep. I know dragons need more than witchers.”

Jaskier gasps, a smile shocked out of him. “Talking, we are definitely talking once we’re safe.” He doesn’t mean it. Because talking about this would hurt. But it’s a nice empty promise all the same.

“The day you stop talking is the day the world has come to its end.”

“Guess I better keep talking then.”

“Yeah. You better.”

Apparently, terror made Geralt softer and more open. And Jaskier hated that he enjoyed it.

Sleep doesn’t find either of them, but Jaskier lets himself fall into a trance watching the rise and fall of Geralt’s breathing. He focuses on the joint slow breaths of Ciri and Geralt, trying to copy it and focus instead of letting his mind wander.

-

It works too, until Ciri starts to wake just before dawn and the noise of her movement causes him to jump out of his skin. It has Geralt rolling over immediately, eyes scanning Jaskier frantically before reaching a hand out to cup Jaskier’s shoulder.

“It’s just Ciri. It’s okay. Come on.” His golden eyes flicker for just a second with something Jaskier can’t place before he’s rolling away and then up onto his feet. “Ciri, up. We’re leaving today.”

All Geralt gets is a groan in reply as Ciri pulls the covers over her head. Ever the teenager now. “Gimme a minute.”

“Nope. There’s danger. Up. Let’s go.”

The mention of danger has Ciri getting up, although she’s not on guard anymore than usual thanks to Geralt’s calmer tone.

“What’s happening?” Jaskier gets up himself, starting to pack up their basics in their respective bags before trying to find a way to pack up their new blankets. Jaskier was not one to let any small comforts go to waste. Especially ones Geralt had found just for him. They were part of his little hoard of treasures now.

“Jaskier’s in trouble. And not the usual kind. We’re leaving as quietly and as we can not to arouse suspicion.”

Jaskier looks over to Ciri. “It’s not even my fault this time.”

She snorts. “I doubt that. But okay.” With a small smile she goes about packing her own things up, and after Jaskier finds a way to turn the blankets into a bundle of sorts that he thinks he can tie onto his own horse Buttercup, he goes over to ruffle her hair before following Geralt out into the dawn to saddle the horses.

It’s quick work, because they’re used to one another by now. And they move quietly as they saddle the horses and attach everything while the horses finish up their breakfast. Geralt was preparing for a long ride then if the fortified oats were anything to go by.

“Who you riding with Ciri?” He calls into the house, ducking under Geralt’s arm in a practised motion as Geralt lifts one of the bags to put onto Buttercup.

“Me.” Geralt grunts, nodding to Ciri as she comes out, bag over her shoulder.

“Oh?” Jaskier asks. Normally they gave her the choice, and she picked depending on her mood. 

Quietly, Geralt leans in, facing the other way as Ciri gets onto Roach. “If I tell you to go, you go. Me and Ciri can hold them off, they’re not after us.” And suddenly Jaskier understands. One person on a horse would ride quicker than two.

“Geralt-”

“Promise me.” 

Jaskier nods, resting his head quickly against Geralt’s shoulder. His need for affections was something Geralt had gotten used to over the years so he doesn’t stop himself from leaning there for a few seconds. He’s shocked though when a hand comes to rest against the back of his head, just for a moment, and Jaskier’s heart skips again.

The fear he feels overrides anything else, but he knows that once they’re safe he’ll overthink that moment. Right now though, they had bigger things to worry about.

They ride through the town, Jaskier just ahead of the other three. He waves to the innkeeper, shouting a meaningless excuse that he can’t make sense of himself as they ride along. But most don’t seem to notice as they wave them off, some shouting thanks or goodbyes while others just watch.

Some have raised eyebrows and crossed arms, other suspicious questioning looks. And Jaskier feels eyes on their backs until they turn a corner. As soon as they’re out of sight Geralt breaks Roach into a gallop that Buttercup copies, and they don’t stop for a while.

-

Buttercup is the one to make them stop. It had been about three hours of solid riding, and upon hearing a stream the mare had simply stopped in her tracks, and then veered off into the woods that lined the path they were taking.

Jaskier doesn’t bother to admonish her, and with a quick glance back to make sure the other three were following, he lets her lead them to the stream.

“We can have an hour, then we need to travel again.” Geralt calls as Jaskier dismounts, letting Buttercup drink as Roach does the same once Geralt and Ciri get down from her. They leave them to drink and Ciri busies herself with refilling their waterskins while Geralt and Jaskier get food out and clear a space for them to sit.

“So.” Jaskier starts, making sure Ciri and Geralt have food before portioning some for himself. “Shall I tell you both now or later?”

“Later.” Geralt grunts. “Don’t know if they followed us.”

“I want to know though. We’ve never left somewhere that quickly before unless they wanted either of your heads on a platter.” Ciri says this without flinching, taking a bite of her bread and cheese simultaneously.

They’re sitting close together in a trio, and Jaskier shuffles a little closer, eyes going to look behind himself.

“I’ll tell you when we’re properly bedded down for the night. But this isn’t my usual bullshit, I promise.”

She hums and rolls her eyes. “You’re not capable of any other bullshit.” She’s smiling a little though as she talks, and Jaskier takes the teasing in his stride.

“I could talk about your flirting with the stableboy, if you want to keep sassing me.”

“You were flirting with the stableboy?” Geralt whips his head to look at Ciri, frowning.

Ciri glares, hitting him sharply on the arm. “Jaskier!”

“You were! I was very proud, you had him under your thumb.” He does not mention that he was holding a dagger the entire time ready to strike if the boy had even made a move to touch her in a way she didn’t want, but she didn’t need to know that. He knew she could take care of herself, especially with Geralt training her and Yennefer too when she visited. But again, his protective nature wouldn’t just let him stand idly by.

“Did you get anything from him?” He asks, and winks at Geralt when he turns his frown to him.

Ciri just sighs, but then rummages in her pocket and holds out a piece of paper and a small cake. The paper, from what Jaskier can make out, has an address on it.

“Ciri-” Geralt starts and she huffs again.

“I’m not going to write to him. Or anything. Jaskier stop trying to distract us!”

The change of conversation is one that Geralt ignores. “Ciri don’t eat that, you don’t know what’s in it. He could be trying to poison you.”

“He didn’t know who I was.”

“No, but men are awful.” Jaskier butts in, hand going out to wave at Geralt to shush him. “He could be trying to drug you. And while you’re safe with us, it’s best you not, you know, have drugs in your system.”

He wasn’t like Geralt in that he could smell things intensely. He hadn’t shifted in so long that his heightened sense had dulled to a level that humans would have. But he barely trusted anyone nowadays. And men almost always had ulterior motives. Especially when it came to women. And Ciri was growing up to be a fine young lady.

She looks at the cake briefly, then back at the pair of them and shrugs, tossing the cake to the side. “Fine. But I would like to pass a bakery when we get to the next town.” 

“Done.” Jaskier nods, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Now we shall eat and then be off.”

With her preoccupied, he looks at Geralt who nods, mouthing a silent “thank you” across the small space. All he does is grin back.

-

They’re back on the road in less than the hour Geralt had given them. And they’re back to riding as fast as they can, not stopping this time until dusk. They’re nowhere near a town, so they bed for the night at the edge of the woods. 

Once a fire is warming and they’re all tucked up in their bedrolls, sitting up and warming their hands against the flames, Jaskier starts to talk.

“So, where to begin?” He moves his hands from the warmth to ring them, anxiety coursing through his veins. Now they were out of the immediate danger, his fear had subsided. But he had never told anyone anything like this before. He doesn’t dare to look at either of his companions, instead focusing on the licking flames in front of him.

“The beginning is always helpful.” The low drawl from Geralt actually makes him stutter on a laugh.

“Yes well, yes. That’s true.”

“Jaskier, what’s actually going on?” He glances to Ciri who's watching him earnestly, and then he looks to Geralt who just nods, slowly with reassurance.

“I.” He takes a deep breath. “Am one of the only few red dragons left.”

Neither Geralt or Ciri make a sound, and he finds he can’t move his gaze from where it’s fallen back onto the fire. “Maybe last, depending on if my family have survived. But they kicked me out years ago, or more so I left. So I lost the right to know.”

“You left?” It’s Geralt who asks, and Jaskier just nods.

“Hmm. I didn’t agree with their practises. They were too eager to give in to the draconic impulses they had. We have.” He shakes his head a little at his own correction. “Most are harmless, but I draw at the line at killing people just to add something else to your hoard.”

“So you left, and then what?” Ciri’s voice is nothing above a whisper.

“I traveled, spent a few decades just, wandering. Maybe more, I stopped knowing how long had passed when I began lying about my age.” He laughs then bitterly, and hears a soft sound come from Geralt. “Then I met Geralt. And traveled with him for a decade on and off. And then of course he claimed you, and that has been my life ever since.”

“Your family haven’t tried to contact you?” It’s Ciri who questions, because of course.

“Never. They were glad to see me leave I think. I never fully did adhere to their ways. Even when they sent me off to boarding school. I never acted how I should. Not in their eyes or even the school’s eyes.”

Ciri makes a small pained noise but changes the subject. “You said you didn’t give into your impulses like they did? What impulses?”

“The main one is being protective of your family or people you care about. That one I tend not to control. However the possessiveness that comes with that I try and ignore. Nobody should feel ownership of anyone, or things.” He shivers as he remembers the feeling of his mother’s talons under his chin, commanding that he stay somewhere. Because he belonged to her, he was her property as her son. He tries to shake it off.

“Which then leads to hoarding. Most of it is treasure, shinies, things of worth. I make sure I travel enough so that I have a reason to not keep hold of things.”

Geralt snorts then, and Jaskier looks up in question. “Not blankets though.” Geralt just raises an eyebrow as he speaks and Jaskier can feel himself blush.

“No, blankets and the like I let myself keep. They’re good for nesting, which is something I let myself do when we’re somewhere for more than a few days. It’s safe and comforting, and it harms no-one so I let myself.”

“What else?” He’s surprised that Ciri doesn’t sound scared, although travelling and being bonded by destiny to a witcher probably had that effect.

“A desire to bond. I broke my last bond upon leaving my family. And have tried to stop myself. It’s.” He hesitates. “Something so intense that humans don’t understand it. So I make sure I don’t subject anyone to that nonsense.”

He chuckles again despite himself, and moves forward quickly. “The need to shift is something I suppress too. There’s no sense to it, it only leads to visibility and danger. That and my ability to breathe fire even if i’m not shifted.”

“Wait, you could do that all this time?” Ciri sounds gleeful, and he looks over at her to frown.

“It’s dangerous. Somebody finding out could get me and anybody i’m with killed. So I don’t.”

“Doesn’t not shifting hurt?” Geralt catches on and Jaskier winces.

“It does. But it is something i’m used to now.” He doesn’t describe the pain. The longer he hadn’t shifted, the worse the stabbing pain in the back of his mind became. But he could bear with it if it meant keeping them safe. No matter how much it made him want to howl and thrash sometimes, he would live with it.

“Can you not shift now? There’s nobody around and-”

Sometimes he could forget how much glee a child could hold. “Not now Ciri. Not ever, probably. You never know if people could be watching. And I will be damned if I get you hurt.”

“Jaskier-”

“Ciri. It’s best for you both if I don’t change, if I don’t.” He waves a frustrated hand around. “Be a dragon. I’m trying not to be.” 

“But you’re hurting.” 

“I will be in agony forever if it means that the pair of you are safe.” He smiles then as he means what he says, darting a look at the pair. “Now let’s eat and sleep. I assume we have more travel ahead of us.”

He reaches for his lute and grabs a hold of it like a lifeline, the one thing he took care of, let himself hoard. Something just for him. Starting to play, the music and words he sings make the ones in Ciri’s throat die, and he ignores the pained looks both give him.

They were safe. And he would make sure he could keep them both as safe as he could.

-

Later, when they’re wrapped in their beds and Ciri is asleep, Geralt shuffles over. 

“You could bond with us.” He’s awkward sounding, but they had been friends for a long time now, so saying it probably comes a little easier for him. Jaskier still winces though nonetheless.

“Geralt, I am not in the business of getting my heart broken anymore. Once Ciri grows and you have no use of me anymore you’ll both be on your way, leaving me somewhere. And I won’t hold that against you ofcourse, either of you. But that sort of bond means life with me trailing behind you and I know you don’t want that.”

Jaskier watches as Geralt gets up then with a huff, coming over to Jaskiers bedroll. He puts it down in between the forest line and Jaskier, forcing him to turn over.

“We won’t leave you.”

“You say that now. Look. It’s probable that you both will have to. Ciri for her destined duties and you for your witcher ones. I am not here to hold either of you back.” His heart aches as he says it. But if he was being truthful tonight, then he may as well just carry on.

“And has that ever stopped you before?”

“Well no.” He looks over Geralt as he settles, gaze not leaving Jaskier even as he gets comfortable. “But it’s different. Now that you know. Knowing I can help, but not doing it.”

“You do help. And you don’t do the obvious because you’re keeping us safe in a different way.” He’s agitated, and Jaskier watches as he scowls. “I wouldn’t let them hurt you even if anyone else did find out.”

“Well. i’de give myself up before that happened. I hate it, that i’ve grown protective over the pair of you. I promise i’m trying not to be possessive. You are both your own people, neither of you belong to anyone.”

Geralt just smiles then, small and a little sad. “Possessiveness takes different forms, not all of it has to be bad.”

“You have not seen somebody who ruled with it.” He shudders then, and lets himself shake for a moment, eyes closing tightly. “Sleep, Geralt. We need to be up in the morning.”

As he rolls back over, he could swear he hears Geralt mutter a quiet “you can be possessive over us, over me.” But there’s silence from there. And he ignores it as his mind playing tricks, making him hear things he wants to hear.

-

The town they find is as small as the last, but there are no notices or whispers about killing dragons, so they stay for the evening.

At some point during the afternoon Geralt had disappeared on a mission, leaving Ciri with Jaskier at the tavern, watching and clapping along as he held court, gaining some coin and providing laughter and cheer. He was still wary, the talks from the evening before fresh in his mind.

But Ciri was treating him the same, joking with him and teasing at any chance she got. Eyes still shining and happy. So at least that wasn’t a worry. Geralt though had been acting strange. Or well, stranger than usual. He had been looking at Jaskier strangely, almost like he was trying to work something out whenever he looked at the bard, and Jaskier didn’t care for the confusion it gave him. Saying something would probably get him nowhere though. So he had left it.

As he’s nearing his last few songs of the night, Geralt returns not even looking that worse for wear. Giving Jaskier and Ciri a nod before settling himself in a corner with an ale. Ever watching. Jaskier doesn’t halt, doesn’t even pause as he continues the song. Although now he’s a little louder, even more performative. Because when Geralt was around, well. He wanted to perform. Put on an ever better show. Practically preen under Geralt’s gaze. The proud impulse from his heritage bleeding through.

He’s stopped though after that song by a young man, one carrying a lute of his own with eager eyes and a pleading smile. The son of the tavern owner whose eyes dart to Geralt every very now and then, practically begging for a chance to perform, get some critique. And who would Jaskier be to deny a young bard that.

So when he begins to play, one of Jaskier’s own songs, he realises and grins to himself, he listens. The boy’s not half bad, and it’s one of the faster paced ones. So Jaskier takes the opportunity to turn to Ciri, extending an exaggerated hand and bowing.

“May I have this dance?”

“Why of course!” And then tables are being pushed aside as they dance, nothing proper or fancy, just a jig and mostly swinging one another around until more people join in, those who aren’t dancing clapping along to the beat or pounding on the table. People are laughing, shouting joyously as the dancing continues, and Jaskier whisks Ciri around, laughing himself.

The present danger had passed. The people he loved didn’t care that he was a dragon. Those were all reasons to celebrate.

He’s surprised when Geralt joins the three, arm going around Ciri’s waist as he locks arms with Jaskier, all three spinning, then unlinking and spinning again. He’s smiling, soft and exasperated as he joins, and Jaskier is too dumbstruck to do anything but continue the motions.

Ciri dances away, arms linking with one of the younger female patrons, both giggling as Geralt continues to link with Jaskier, coming closer, using the chance to say lowly. “You perform this better.” Before pulling away, although they stay linked, twirling around again.

“I never thought i’de see you dance.” He almost shouts as they unlink, circling around one another before linking again.

“And I never thought you’d ever admit the truth. But i’ll say this, you can’t dance as well as you perform.”

“Geralt you beast!” Jaskier gasps, hitting out with his free hand to slap at Geralt’s shoulder, and the song winds down. He goes to say something, anything. But the boy comes up to them, eyes bright and asking.

“So, was that any good?” They unlink as the young bard steps up, and Geralt leaves the group of now panting dancers to go back to his spot to get his things, grabbing Ciri on the way and Jaskier watches as they head upstairs.

“Brilliant. You’ll make a great bard yet.”

“Thank you!” He pats the boy absentmindedly on the shoulder.

“Keep playing, you’ll do great. Go on a few adventures, create your own songs. You’ll go far.”

“I will!”

“And have your mother send up some hot water? If you please.”

The boy snorts, but he’s still smiling. “I can do that too. Thank you Jaskier.”

“Any time, kid.”

He heads upstairs then to the one room he knows they have, and goes in. The candles are flickering, and the tub in the corner of the room looks really inviting even without water in it.

“I’ve asked for water to be brought up.” The door closes behind him with a quiet click and Ciri beams at him from her bed by the window. There was only one other bed, but from what he remembered it had been in the corner, and now it was over by the wall. When he looks over to the corner he can’t help but choke on a gasp. 

They had piled all of their blankets and pillows there, the one from the bed by the wall too. It’s soft and inviting, a proper nest, and he turns to Geralt who was currently busying himself by the empty bed.

“You both spoil me.”

“Anything for our bard.” Geralt murmurs, and Ciri nods eagerly.

Jaskier feels those words more than hears them and tries not to choke again. Ours, theirs. He was theirs. But Geralt could never mean it in the way he wanted. No matter how much he had softened towards Jaskier over the years, how often smiles and teasing words had been sent his way.

Geralt still complained. Still huffed and rolled his eyes. And anyway. Nobody could love a dragon. Nobody could love him.

“Geralt bought the extra bedding up! So it should be extra cozy! Although I grabbed one of the blankets, it’s cold as fuck in here.” He shifts his focus to Ciri who’s babbling a little. Although his ears prick at the stronger curse word, and he goes to say something but Geralt beats him to it.

“Ciri.” Geralt rolls his eyes at the strong curse and she rolls her eyes back, but doesn’t say it again.

“Did you both enjoy the dance?” At a loss of what to say, or even what to think, thoughts rapidly spinning around his head, he goes to drop down into his nest. There are a few pillows he needs to rearrange, but he does that as subtly as he can.

“I did! We should do that more often, find someone else performing so you can dance too Jaskier!”

“I’de like that. How about you Geralt? Will you dance some more with us?”

“We’ll see.” He doesnt turn around from where Jaskier assumes he’s unpacking his bag.

“I’m going to take that as a yes. Ciri, you heard a yes didn’t you?”

“Oh absolutely.”

“We’re heading to Kaer Morhen, if you can get anybody dancing there then I will have definitely seen everything.” Geralt says it into the room, and Jaskier can practically hear his smirk. 

“I didn’t think you wanted to go this year.” 

He hadn’t. They had been once, when they had just gotten Ciri. But Jaskier had had to work that season, frequenting a few towns to earn money for when they returned. He had only left them knowing they were safe there.

“It’s too cold everywhere. And Ciri could always use more training.”

“How long then until we get there?” Ciri asks, unphased. She was always willing to receive training. Plus, it was the closest place both Ciri and Geralt had to a steady home now.

“About two weeks. We should get there just before the first snowfall if we’re lucky.”

“I’ve never been. Am I having to work this time?” He tilts his head, as Geralt shakes his head.

“No. You’re coming with us.” A warmth spreads through him and he beams at Geralt’s sure tone.

“Oh okay. I’m expecting a full tour from the pair of you when we get there.”

“It’ll be so fun! Everyone there is really nice! You can train with us!” Ciri pipes up.

“Oh, you can train. I can cheer you on.”

Geralt goes to say something but there’s a knock at the door that he goes to answer instead. 

“Oh, yes the water thank you.”

It takes a few trips to fill the bath up properly, and Jaskier watches with a beam as Geralt makes sure to tip the woman on her way out before he makes a point of locking the door.

“Who's the cleanest?” He asks the pair, because it would always be one of them. Geralt was always the messiest. Jaskier just glances over to Ciri who shrugs and gestures to him.

“Me, probably.”

“Then hurry up. I put the towels on the side.”

Getting up and out of his nest is hard, because it really was very comfortable. But he manages, and makes quick work of stripping and getting into the bath. Having to share a bath between three for however long meant everything he does now is quick with practised ease, not lounging like he would usually given a bath to himself. Even washing his hair is quick, doing enough to get rid of the grease and grime and run soap through it but not much else.

When he resurfaces from where he had ducked underwater for a last rinse, a towel is being held out and he takes it, running it quickly over his hair before getting it up and wrapping it around himself.

“Ciri. In you go.” Jaskier moves out of the way, turning towards the bed by the wall alongside Geralt. Both giving Ciri as much privacy as they could in the shared room. Jaskier dries as quickly as he can, rooting through his pack for his set of bed clothes. Although he only puts the pants on for now.

Geralt doesn’t move from his side, instead he gets his own bed clothes out. Or more, just sleep pants. Given that he still had a proclivity for sleeping shirtless when they had a roof over their heads.

“If you want.” Geralt’s voice is low. “You can shift while we’re at Kaer Morhen. Nobody there will harm you.”

“Ah yes, your witcher training.” He thinks back to the dragon ‘hunt’. “Are all witchers trained that way?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t want to bring up that trip, because oh how terrible a trip it had been. And he couldn’t stand the questions that may come with it.

“I’ll see. Thank you. For taking me.”

“Anywhere to keep you safe. Both of you. Anything to relieve your pain.”

Jaskier huffs out a laugh, was Geralt hearing himself? “Maybe I should reveal dark secrets more often. You’ve never been this open.”

Geralt only grunts at that then, and Jaskier laughs out loud, gently hitting his shoulder.

“Brute.”

Ciri finishes quickly too, and they keep her privacy while she changes at her own bed before it’s Geralt’s turn to strip and bathe.

He takes longer than the other two combined, given the blood that was dried beneath his armour. Apparently his hunts hadn’t gone as well as he had told the tavern owner and he had hidden it from the pair of them well. It all seems superficial though, which is a blessing. It’s routine that when he finishes up, Jaskier goes to his back to kneel by the bath and wash his hair.

Geralt could never get the blood out properly, and after the first few times Jaskier had watched in disgust at him just leaving it there all those years ago, he had made Geralt let him help.

And that’s what he does now, running his fingers through the strands, scratching at Geralt’s scalp to get all the blood and guts out that had dried there, sticky and gross. Jaskier doesn’t miss how Geralt leans into it, head tilting back as his eyes close. He looks over to Ciri who doesn’t pay them any mind, so used to this by now. All she’s doing is pulling out one of the books she had bought herself, cracking it open to read before bed.

“You need to start tying your hair up during battles Geralt.” He murmurs quietly. “If to stop the knots over anything else.”

“Ah yes, because I have time to do that."

“I mean you could do it before you even leave the campsite, or the inn.”

“And let somebody see that? No.”

“As if you’ve ever cared before Geralt.” Jaskier snorts. He resists the urge to place a kiss on Geralt’s crown as he finishes up rinsing the last of the soap out, standing. “Now come on. You want us to be up early tomorrow.”

He goes and dries his chest and arms before putting his sleep shirt on, heading to his nest. Nests made him feel safer, and he finds himself sighing with relief when he collapses onto the pile of blankets, letting himself curl up and then stretch, practically purring as he preens into the warmth.

“Are you sure you’re not actually a cat?” Ciri calls, sounding distracted, and Jaskier laughs, loud and surprised.

“Hmm. Maybe.” 

Sitting up, he watches as Geralt walks over, now dressed. And Jaskier assumes he wants some of the blankets back given his bed was bare. So he’s surprised when Geralt sits heavily next to him. 

“Geralt?”

“Hmm.” 

“You have a bed you know.”

“But that would mean taking blankets off you. Now move over.”

Jaskier does without comment, although it’s more out of speechlessness than anything else. This was the third day in a row Geralt had bedded down with him. And once again, Geralt puts himself between Jaskier and the door. Ah, Jaskier makes the connection. He must still be afraid people were after them.

With that realisation, all Jaskier does it wiggle out one of the blankets to throw over Geralt, grabbing one for himself before settling down, back to the wall, eyes not leaving Geralt’s shoulders until he falls asleep.

-

The odd behaviour from Geralt continues as they travel for those two weeks to Kaer Morhen. And they only stop a few times in inns so Geralt can take jobs in the towns they stay at for the night. Every night at any of the inns, a nest had been made for him by an increasingly proud Ciri and an as usual silent Geralt. And when he went to bed down every night even on the road, Geralt would be there, sleeping alongside him. Neither would mention that in the mornings they would wake up in one another’s arms unless Ciri was between them which she had been the last week as it had gotten colder. There had also been the softer looks Geralt had been throwing his way whenever he thought the bard wasn’t looking, the looks Jaskier couldn’t make out and desperately wanted to. He didn’t think he’d ever know though.

Then there had been the touches that had been growing in frequency. A casual hand on his back while Geralt was guiding them through a forest, or a quick run of fingers through his hair when it got in his eyes and he was too tired to push it back himself. A hand on his arm to stop him from stumbling, a constant warmth by his side. He didn’t know how to take it.

They’re in the hills somewhere, Jaskier had long since lost track of where they were. Slowly making their way through the cold. He’s lounging back on Buttercup, their slow pace enough that he trusts her to follow Roach, and has his lute out. Strumming a few chords as the high sun filtered through the trees above them.

_“Oh the drowners were unaware,_  
_too caught up in that black stare,_  
_that their days were just then numbered,_  
_and that number, oh was one._

_For the White Wolf had them caught,_  
_pain on them he wrought,_  
_vicious in his victory_  
_he returned home, the battle won.”_

Ciri claps from in front of him on the back of Roach giggling.

“You finished it!”

“That verse at least.” Absently he strums a few more chords, words spinning around his head before a cough from Geralt stops him and he sits upright, hands going to Buttercups reigns.

“We’re almost there.” His voice is gruff, but Jaskier can hear the smile in it and grins to himself. One handed, he manages to put the lute away and string it back onto his back in a practised and easy move before nudging Buttercup into a canter after Geralt does the same to Roach.

Kaer Morhen practically sneaks up on him, large and grey and foreboding. Although when he looks to Geralt he sees the tension somewhat bleed from his shoulders, and automatically feels a little safer.

“I thought you said the road to Kaer Morhen was dangerous?”

“Not with a witcher to lead you. Just a few more minutes then we’ll be there.”

“If you say so.” Jaskier calls back, eyes not leaving the fort. Because that’s really the only thing he could describe it as. It’s dark and looming, even in the light of day. And if it wasn’t a place that Geralt called home Jaskier wouldn’t step foot near it.

But he carries on riding, and soon enough like Geralt had said, they’re nearing large wooden double doors that swing open as they approach.

An elderly man steps forward through the opening, still broad and strong but older, greying in his beard. And he opens his arms in welcome with a small smile on his face.

It must be a witcher thing, the small smiles. Jaskier decides as he follows suit from Geralt and Ciri and dismounts, keeping his grasp on Buttercups reigns tight.

“Welcome! We didn’t expect you this year Geralt, and Ciri! Welcome back child.”

“Vesemir!” Ciri grins, going up only to bow dramatically which the older man replicates.

“And you must be the bard Jakier, the one slowly turning the tides in our favour. Welcome.”

Jaskier watches as the man sizes him up, his sniffing obvious given how used to Geralt Jaskier was. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second when he realises that Jaskier has caught him, but all he does is turn around and walk into the keep, letting them follow.

He was the one who had taught Geralt, from what little information Geralt and Ciri had provided, so Jaskier relaxes in the fact that he was safe with him.

“Eskel and Lambert have returned this year. But we’re not expecting anyone else.” Vesemir calls as they enter the large courtyard. Once the doors close behind them, an instant air of safety seems to blanket the space, and with the way Geralt stretches and seems to relax fully, it wasn’t just Jaskier that felt it.

In front of them was the main building, but off to the side were stables that Jaskier leads Buttercup to, Roach and Geralt following.

“Ciri, come with me and pick your rooms.” Is all Vesemir says, leaving Geralt and Jaskier alone as Ciri follows eagerly behind him.

“Do you think Buttercup will be alright with the other witcher horses? Not that Roach isn’t delightful, but Buttercup is delicate and-”

“Jaskier.” They go to stables beside one another, both making quick work of unpacking and unsaddling the horses. Jaskier looks over the small fence separating the two stalls, finding Geralt watching him.

“Yes?”

“I promise you’re safe here.”

“Well Vesemir already knows and he didn’t say anything so.” Jaskier trails off, unsure of what to say. This automatic acceptance and apparent safety were completely new, and possibly even unwelcome. He didn’t know how to behave in the face of any of this.

“Nobody would. And you don’t have to shift. But if you want to, here is the place to do it.”

“I’ll.” He hesitates. “I’ll think about it. We’re here for a while, right?”

“Hm.”

“Then I’ll think about it. Maybe see how I feel once we meet everyone else.”

“Oh they’re bastards.” Geralt snorts, gathering the things from the packs before heading out. Jaskier follows, hands full of more things. “But I trust them with my life.”

“Are you just describing yourself? Because really Geralt there is no need for the self-deprecation-”

He’s stopped at the stable doors by Geralt practically tackling him, hand in his hair ruffling it as their things drop to the ground. It’s roughhousing in a way that Jaskier hasn’t had in years, and having Geralt’s hands on him causes his face to flush, although he hopes Geralt assumes it’s because he’s laughing so hard.

“You bastard! Get off of me!” 

Geralt does, and he’s laughing. It’s a wonderful sound.

“You’re so open here.” Jaskier says it before he means to, and all Geralt does is shrug.

“We’re safe here. Now c’mon. I bet they’re waiting for us.”

They are, because as soon as they enter the building Geralt is tackled by two men of similar size to him, all shouting and laughing as they end up wrestling on the floor.

Jaskier just watches before sighing, picking up the rest of the bags that Geralt had dropped in preparation of essentially getting jumped as he looks towards Vesemir who's watching everything unfold by the roaring fire that takes up the center back wall of the room.

“You mentioned something about rooms?”

“I did indeed. Let’s leave them to it.”

Jaskier shoulders the bags as best he can and follows Vesemir. “I hope i’m not intruding.”

They go down a few hallways, all grand and lined with carpets and tapestries. Something that Jaskier hadn’t expected.

“Any friend of Geralt is welcome here. Especially given that you won’t cause trouble.”

“And how do you know I wont?” He asks before he can stop himself and he freezes, heart immediately in his throat. Veseemir could kill him in seconds, even without his swords, so he breathes a heavy sigh of relief when all the man does is laugh.

“We would have heard about your nature by now. And Geralt and Ciri spoke so highly of you last time they were here.”

The comment warms his heart, and the warmth and comfort of that spreads to his bones, his blood. He was their bard.

“Well i’m glad. Not everyone would.”

“Not everyone would follow around a witcher so willingly.”

“That’s very true, I guess the only trouble I could bring would align with the trouble Geralt would bring.”

“And that is trouble we can easily take care of. Here are your rooms. Ciri’s is the one on the end, although she said not to bother her until dinner.”

He huffs then, rolling his eyes fondly. “Teenagers.”

Vesemir just smiles again. “Teenagers indeed.”

“I know i’ll say this again and again, but truly thank you. For your hospitality and your graciousness.”

“You’re welcome. Dinner’s in a few hours, but there will be drinks until then if you’re not resting.”

“I’ll unpack and then join you all, I think. Unless you all want to catch up.”

“We’ll get more of a story out of you than we would Geralt, we’d be glad to drink with you.”

“Alright.” With a nod Vesemir is gone, and Jaskier is left to unpack.

He leaves the middle room for Geralt knowing he’ll want to be close to Ciri, dumping his stuff on the bed by the window before going to his own room.

He barely has anything to unpack, so he spends most of his time dragging the mattress from the bed to shove into the corner, piling the blankets from there onto it along with the ones from the cottage. It’s a mess of blankets and pillows once he’s finished and he beams at the sight. A nest, one with a comfortable double mattress. One he could spend a few months in and make perfect. He almost drops straight into it, but remembers what he had said and makes his way back downstairs, following the sound of laughter and chatter.  
  
Geralt is the first to turn to him as he enters the room, small smile on his face and Jaskier nods to him, going over to sit on the chair next to him, watching out of the corner of his eye as the two strangers at the other side of the large table size him up.

“Jaskier, this is Eskel and Lambert. Bastards. The pair of ‘em.”

Jaskier looks over to find them staring and he smiles, trying his best not to fidget under their joint stare. “Good to meet you both.”

The one with scars down his face is the first to speak up, and he holds a hand out that Jaskier takes. “Eskel. Heard a lot about you. Think you can write some ballads about me?” He’s smiling, something shifting to be more comfortable in the air and Jaskier beams.

“Ah a man who appreciates my talent, you could stand to listen Geralt. Honestly.” They shake, and Jaskier holds his hand out to Lambert who shakes too. Although he doesn’t say anything, he just continues to stare.

And oh, maybe Jaskier wasn’t as safe as Geralt had thought.

“Whatever.” Geralt snorts. “Anyway, Lambert was telling us about the Cockatrice hoard.”

“Wait they hunt in packs?” Jaskier turns to Lambert from where his gaze had drifted back to Geralt. And all Lambert does is nod, although he’s started to smile a little.

“Apparently.”

And he almost launches back into the story before Eskel shouts “bullshit!” and they’re back to friendly arguing again. He falls into the usual rhythm of listening, laughing when it’s called for. But he can’t get the silence and stare from Lambert out of his head.

It must be hours of keeping the charade up when Ciri comes down yawning, dressed in bed clothes and cozy looking.

“Hey there sweet pea.” He’s first to address her, and he opens his arms enough that once she reaches the table she takes the offer and climbs into his lap. Maybe some would say she was too old for this, but she smelled of nervous sweat even to his nose and that spoke of nightmares. And he wasn’t going to deny her or anybody else comfort after a nightmare.

Geralt reaches out to run his fingers over her forehead and through her hair, subtly checking her temperature in case the panic turned into an attack but when he pulls his hand away he looks settled.

Settling in, he wraps his arms as tightly as he can around her without hurting her, resting his chin on the top of her head as her breathing evens out. Maybe they could have a little nap here before the food was brought out.

That thought is stopped in its tracks though when Vesemir returns, holding a large covered bowl that he sets heavily onto the table. “We’ve got a cooking rota. It’s Lambert’s turn next week. But then it’s yours Geralt and you’re after that Jaskier.” He calls that over his shoulder as he goes back into the kitchen to get more things and Jaskier hums his agreement as Geralt nods his.

“C’mon sweet pea up. You’ve always had the best timing. And don’t think you’re not cooking, you’re going to be helping Geralt. He needs it.”

That has all of them laughing then, and he accepts the cuff around the ear from Geralt.

The stew Vesemir had prepared tastes amazing, and Vesemir makes enough that he can have seconds, while the other witchers have thirds, and even fourths in Lambert’s case.

“Okay. I’ve got to ask.” Once he’s finishing his last bowl, Lambert turns to Geralt and Jaskier and Jaskier feels his blood run cold from the tone. Because here it was. The accusations, because nobody scowled like Lambert was currently doing without being angry. Without a fight breaking out, something happening.

“How did you end up travelling with a dragon? Seriously, you’re the most miserable of us all and you end up with one of the rarest creatures at your side?”

That was not what Jaskier had expected. And in his surprise he laughs, loud and shocked, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“I thought you were going to kill me or something fucking hell.” He sprawls across the table, hands going to rest on folded arms as he giggles, practically manic until the panic settles fully into relief. “I really thought I was gone, fuck.”

There’s sputtering then from everyone, although Jaskier knows that the spluttering from Ciri is because of the curse words. She thought it was unfair they could say them and not her. The rest he isn’t sure about though, and when he looks up he just finds baffled confusion crossing everybody else's faces.

“We would never hurt you.” Lambert stutters. “You’re a dragon.”

“You were glaring at me like i’de slept with your mother!” He just about stops himself from pointing an accusing finger at the witcher and Eskel laughs. “And being a dragon has not stopped other people from trying. In fact, that’s mostly. Well not mostly. Sometimes, it is sometimes the reason people try and kill me.”

Eskel leans forward. “What’s the normal reason?”

Geralt scoffs then. “He just told you, sleeping with people's mothers.” And then the table is roaring, even Ciri giggling along.

“Okay I don’t do that anymore. And recently, very recently, the reason we are here in fact, is the dragon thing. So forgive me for seeing your angry scary witcher glare and thinking that it was something serious and not just, sibling rivalry?”

“You aren’t scared of Geralt’s glaring.” Ciri chimes in, and he turns to glare at her as she breaks into giggles again.

“If Geralt really wanted to kill me he would have done it on the day we met, there had been plenty of opportunities. Also, he is a massive softie who hides behind grunts and angry eyebrows. You however, Mister Lambert, I don’t know at all. So forgive my assumptions.”

There’s laughter again and Geralt groans, head going to rest in his hands as the other witchers cackle.

“Oh it was a brilliant idea to bring you here.” Lambert grins. “Didn’t mean to scare you. You’re probably safer here than anywhere else.”

“That’s what Geralt said. Although he also said he’d keep Jaskier safe wherever we were!” Ciri pipes up and Geralt turns, glaring at the both of them.

“Ciri.” He hisses. “Not you too.”

She just smiles sweetly and that gets Jaskier laughing, sighing with relief.

“Thank you. All of you. However, I must have you all know that I am a bard first and dragon second. So I may not be able to answer all, if any, of your questions.” Phrasing it lightly seems like the way to go, and he’s glad to see the other witchers back off with nods of agreement.

“Of course.” Vesemir nods. And the others seem to back off at his word, all except Ciri.

“We can watch when you shift though right, I bet you’re beautiful.”

“Ciri! I never said I was going to.” The idea of him shifting startles him, he had put off thinking about it since they had had the initial conversation and he hadn’t thought anybody would bring it up. Not until now apparently. What with Geralt mentioning it earlier too.

“But you said it’s been years-” He panics at her insistence.

“Ciri.” He hates snapping at her, and he doesn’t mean to. But this wasn’t the time or the place, and his nerves were already fraying at the edges. “Sorry just, that’s a conversation for later yeah?”

She huffs and crosses her arms but nods. Blowing her fringe from her face.

It’s shame that fuels him to stand. “Right, i’ll leave you all to it. I’m sure you have catching up to do without an outsider listening. Before I go do you need help with cleaning up?”

Vesemir waves him off. “Go, sleep. I’m sure you’re tired after the journey.”

“I will take my leave then. See you all in the morning.” He nods to the room at large before spinning on his heel, trying to get to his room as quickly as possible.

Despite his relief, erratic emotions were still coursing through his veins. An odd mixture of latent panic and newly found relief as well as confusion and age old fear. Making quick work of changing, he grouses to himself until he falls into his nest, mind racing mile a minute.

Because even though they said he was safe, and even though Geralt acted as if they were all safe. Was he really? He trusted Geralt with his life, but he didn’t know the other witchers. And they knew. They were upfront about it, wanting to talk about it. He didn’t like it. Hated it. This was too new, too open. Too much. Everywhere he went where people knew he was met with hostility and hunting and fighting and death. Trying to wrap his mind around this new acceptance sent him spinning.

Unable to shake the anxiety he staggers up, going over to the small wash basin on the dresser to the side side and promptly vomits, hands clutching the sides of the bowl. His throat burns and his lungs feel as though they’re collapsing. So there he stays, hunched over the metal, holding so tightly that he doesn’t fall over. Squeezing his eyes closed, he tries to keep his breathing under control, tears spilling out and down his face.

Fuck.

Vomiting again his legs almost give out and he gasps, trying to catch his breath through the sobbing and bile.

Desperately he hopes that they can’t hear or smell him downstairs. Because on top of everything else he thinks the shame might kill him.

Unfortunately, because destiny must hate him, there’s a knock at his door and he turns his head to watch as Geralt slips into the room, frown growing deeper and deeper on his face as he spots Jaskier still hunched over the bowl.

“Jask-”

“M’fine-” He mutters, but then is promptly sick again and he chokes. Coughing and spluttering before he feels Geralt at his side, large hand going to rub circles on Jaskier’s back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You done?” Jaskier takes a second to think about it, registers the anxiety still lingering in his chest, the mix of emotions that he hates and bile rises again.

“Nope.”

They stay like that until Jaskier has fully emptied his stomach. Nothing but strings of bile left.

“I’m going to get you some water to drink and wash in, stay here.” His voice is low, like how it is when he’s talking Ciri down from a nightmare, so Jaskier stays stood, legs wobbling and head aching.

It’s not long until Geralt returns though, and Jaskier lets himself be led back to the nest.

“Sorry.” He mutters again once he’s sat, eyes closing and head lolling back as Geralt sits opposite, hands going to the bowl of warm water. Jaskier lets himself be fretted over, leaning into the touch as Geralt slowly wipes over his face with the washcloth he had also brought in. 

“Looking after Ciri has made you gentle Geralt.” He hums, leaning forward as Geralt wipes gently over his face, his eyes, his jawline. Getting rid of any lingering tears of traces of sickness.

“Hm.” He keeps his eye closed at the hum, grabbing blindly when a cool glass is pressed into his hands and he drinks greedily from it, ridding the sour taste from his mouth and throat.

“Thank you.” He passes the glass back, slowly opening his eyes to find golden ones watching him intently, roaming over his face before catching his gaze and staying there.

“What was that about?” Geralt is still talking softly, but he was still one to get straight to the point.

“I haven’t told anyone about my heritage ever. And then suddenly five people openly know and ask me about it.” He shrugs, unable to do much else. “While i’m relieved, it’s still all a bit much.”

“Sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” Startled Jaskier laughs. “You’ve been the quietest about this, bar Vesemir. And i’m expecting questions from him too.”

“I mean with Ciri. She shouldn’t have asked that. And for not telling them to not mention it. Any of them.”

“Ciri’s still a child.” He blows out a breath. “I’m not going to fault her for asking questions. I’m gonna apologise for snapping at her, it’s not her fault she still sees this as something good.”

“Jaskier-” He still hasn’t let his gaze drop from Geralt’s. And he winces when Geralt’s eyes soften, voice sounding pained.

“No, it’s not good. It’s a curse Geralt. We all know that.”

“I don’t think you can be a part of our group and not be.” He smiles, sad and acknowledging, and Jaskier can’t help but mimic the gesture.

“I guess it’s good that I found you then.”

They share another smile. Although this one is happier.

“Sleep. Tomorrow we have to be up to watch Ciri train. She wants ballads composed.”

“Oh does she?” He breaks the eye contact then, the slow heat that had been growing behind his navel almost too much. Having Geralt’s undivided, soft attention like that was something he didn’t know how he could bear if it continued.

“She does.”

“Then I guess we better rest. Thank you, for helping me Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“This is normally where you say you’re welcome, any time.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier watches the tiny twitches at the corners of Geralt’s mouth and laughs to himself.

“Go, sleep. I’ll clean everything up in the morning.”

It’s hard watching Geralt go, especially as he ignores Jaskier and takes the sullied water and wash basins out with him, leaving Jaskier with nothing to clean. The warmth he feels from Geralt’s attention still lingers though, as it was a feeling that he feels is ingrained into his bones at this point. And he clings to that as he makes himself comfortable and eventually falls asleep.

-

Waking up warm and cozy feels amazing after time camping in the forests, and he stretches his legs out before he burrows deeper under his covers. Or he tries to, because there’s a solid weight at his back holding the blankets captive and he rolls over away from the wall, sleepy brain not catching up with itself quick enough to be scared. 

“Geralt?” The other man’s sleeping face greets him, and Jaskier watches as his eyes slowly open, golden iris’ being revealed in what he can only assume is firelight given that the room is dark otherwise.“Hm?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate this, I am always willing to share a bed. But do you not have your own room?”

Geralt looks around for a second, eyes blurry and confused. “Oh. Must have come back ‘n here. Sorry. Habit.”

“What? To cuddle or protect me?”

“Course.” That’s not really an answer, but Geralt had never really been good at those so Jaskier takes what he can get. Especially given the comments' implications into Geralt’s habits. If he regarded them cuddling as one, Jaskier wasn’t going to complain.

Geralt closes his eyes again, snuggling down under a cover Jaskier hasn’t seen before and Jaskier lets himself bask in the domesticity and calm of the moment. Moments like this were hard to come by. And whenever they had happened lately, they had been tainted by some other disaster. So he lets himself bask, and tries as hard as he can to calm his quickly beating heart. Because how could Geralt do something like this and not expect Jaskier to fall deeper in love with him.

“You could at least give me the blanket back.”

“No.”

“No?”

Instead of answering further, Geralt just opens his arm, large blanket thrown back in invitation, and what can Jaskier do except roll into the embrace? Once he’s settled, back firmly against Geralt’s chest Geralt resetles his blanket, and Jaskier just pushes further back, wiggling until eventually Geralt puts an arm around his waist, holding him still.

“We’ve got a few more hours before they come to get us. Rest.”

Jaskier does.

-

He wakes again to Ciri climbing over him, wiggling her way in between him and Geralt, and all he does is shuffle back to make room for her.

“Mornin’.” He yawns into her face and she grimaces, but snuggles down anyway.

“This is very cozy.” She yawns back, head going to his chest as Geralt moves back in, arm going to cover them both as his hands rests on the small of Jaskier’s back. The move is practised after doing it for so long, Ciri needing the warmth or security after a nightmare or battle. And yet every time Jaskier’s heart still sped up a little.

“It is.” He mumbles. 

“Maybe we should all build nests instead of having beds.” She muses, the most awake of the three despite her closed eyes.

“The world would be a softer place.” None of them are speaking above a whisper, and Jaskier yawns again. “Do you think they’d let me sleep in ‘till lunch?”

“Not a chance.” Geralt grumbles again before he rolls away, taking the blanket with him.

Both Jaskier and Ciri yelp at that. “Geralt!” Ciri scowls, but she rolls over too.

“Come on Jask. Up.” It’s the nickname that gets Jaskier to open his eyes and sit up, because that was something Geralt had only ever called him when he was either in danger, or Geralt thought he couldn’t hear him. So saying it outloud while Jaskier was awake was completely new.

“Uh, yeah okay. Okay.” He doesn’t bother dressing, just shoves his feet in his boots as he follows them up and downstairs, sleep still gripping his bones.

The other three witchers are already up and eating, although they’re all still dressed in sleep clothes like Jaskier which makes him feel a little better as he slumps into one of the chairs, grabbing two of the plates stacked by the bread before putting a few slices on both plates, loading them both with jam before sliding one to Ciri who had sat next to him, leaning heavily against him with her eyes closed.

“Come on. If I have to be awake, so do you.”

He looks up to find Eskel watching them with a small smile on his face. Jaskier raises a questioning eyebrow and Eskel shrugs.

“It’s nice to see them both happier.”

“Oh?” Neither had really told him about their last winter at Kaer Morhen other than some basics about training. Maybe there had been a reason.

“Yeah. Both were pretty unsettled.”

“Stop talking as if we’re not here.” Geralt grouses, sitting next to Lambert. 

“Well then join the conversation.” Eskel rolls his eyes. “You were both pretty sad last time you were here. All history aside of course.”

It had been Ciri’s first winter away from her old life. Jaskier remembers. Which would explain Ciri’s moods. And he and Geralt had barely made up that year too. He was staying with them for Ciri’s sake and there had been tension there. Plus, Geralt was adjusting to living with a child and facing his destiny properly. Neither would be in high spirits.

“It’s ‘cause now we have Jaskier!” Ciri sounds happy despite her eyes still being firmly closed, head resting on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“And also because you’re both a lot safer and have more to train with now that your skills are more refined. Also I had to work so we had coin for when you two met up with me again.”

“We’re glad you’re here now.” Geralt grunts, and Jaskier watches as he promptly almost shoves half a loaf of bread into his mouth. And his heart would almost flip at the words if the imagery wasn’t so stupid.

“You’re an idiot.” Is all he says and Lambert snorts.

“Oh I say it with complete affection.” He waves off, starting on his own breakfast, nudging Ciri to actually sit up and eat. “But out of all of us, he’s the biggest idiot here. We can all admit to that.”

“You’re a fucking dick bard.” Geralt says with a mouthful already reaching out for a bowl of porridge. And Jaskier delights in the fact that Geralt doesn’t even try and hide his fond tone.

“Ohhhh you got titled.” Ciri sniggers, sitting up properly to start on her breakfast.

“It’s only because he doesn’t know my full name. Even though i’m pretty sure i’ve told you both a million times.”

“That’s true.” Ciri chirps. “You like to say it when you’re drunk to prove that you’re not drunk and it never works, although you say it perfectly.”

“Hmm. Years of training on that front my dear.” He ignores the delighted laugh Esekl lets out.

“Anyway. Training. You’re training today.”

“Yeah! Lambert’s gonna teach me how to use a crossbow!” She sounds far more delighted than she should be. “And Vesemir found some books that i’m gonna read while we stay here to learn more about both my magic and some history I think.”

“Some aren’t training.” He’s sitting at the head of the table and Jaskier notes that he looks as tired as they feel. “I just thought you’d like them.”

“Thank you Vesemir.” She smiles, sleepily and slow but genuine. One that both Vesemir and Lambert return. Of course she had them all wrapped around her little finger.

“I thought we could spar Geralt.” Eskel offers. “See if you’re still in shape.”

“You’re on.” Geralt is quick to agree. “Gotta watch Ciri first though.”

“Obviously.”

“I assume i’m to compose while you’re training?” He looks down to Ciri who nods.

“You need to get started on them now so you have new material for when we travel again.” She’s deadly serious, hints of the princess she had been brought up to be shining though and he bites his lip to stop from laughing.

“If you say so.”

-

He manages to help clean up this time after breakfast, marvelling at how large the kitchen is as he washes the plates for Lambert to dry. It was far too big a building for just the six of them. But then, it probably hadn’t been big enough when it was housing all of the witchers. 

Quietly, he wonders how it must feel to be so empty and makes a note to jot the idea down when he gets back upstairs.

Once finished, Lambert disappears somewhere and Jaskier goes to get changed and jot down his thoughts in his secondary secret notebook. All before grabbing his lute and heading back down the large staircase. Again, he follows the loud conversation he can hear until he finds everyone back outside in the courtyard. Lambert was by an open door off to the side with Ciri, that with a quick glance reveals itself to be some sort of weapons shed.  
  
Geralt and Eskel were by the main doors, both leaning against the wall with their arms crossed, deep enough in conversation that they don’t pay any mind to him as Jaskier slips past them. It’s warm thanks to a roaring fire pit in the center of the courtyard, so he doesn’t shiver as he plonks himself down on a haybale by the door of the stables, well away from where he can see the targets.

Not that it does him any good, as not ten minutes into the training, Ciri turns around too rapidly, crossbow held outward and shoots him squarely in the thigh.

“FUCK!” He’d been shot before, because sometimes locals still got angry at Geralt’s mere presence and would run them out of town. And he’d been in a few brushes with the monsters Geralt fought at this point. Plus, any pain felt like nothing compared to what the djinn had inflicted upon him. So it’s more surprise than anything else that gets him shouting as he feels the bolt pierce his leg. The sharp sting and then deeper pain continues as he instinctively reaches for it, and then promptly yanks it out. Why the fuck they had started with actual bolts and not wooden ones he doesn’t know, but he yells again when he pulls it, hand immediately going to press aginst the wound to stop the blood flow.

“JASKIER!” Ciri is running over then, crossbow clattering loudly to the floor as Geralt follows.

“S’fine!” He calls, although the strain makes him grunt and clutch at his leg tighter. “Had worse.”

They reach him at the same time and Geralt crouches down immediately, gentle hands going to bat Jaskier’s away as Ciri hovered behind him. “Jaskier i’m so so sorry-”

“It’s fine Ciri. Ow okay, fuck Geralt ow.” Removing his hands made the pain worse, and Geralt poking at it as he rolled Jaskier’s pant leg up to inspect it wasn’t helping either.

“You’ll need stitches, but it’s not too deep.” He sounded relieved more than anything, which makes Jaskier relax too despite the pain.

“Fuck again, really.” He’s trying to be lighthearted for Ciri’s sake given that she was still hovering and biting at her nails. He really hated getting stitches though.

“Really. It’s too deep not to have them.”

“You said it wasn’t deep.”

“It’s not deep enough for danger. But deep enough for stitches. Right. Ciri, you stay here and continue to train. Jaskier’s fine.”

“See Ciri. Fine.” He reaches a hand out before realising that it’s covered in blood, which brings his attention back to the sharp throbbing pain in his leg. Fuck.

“No, i’m coming in-”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” Geralt stands, gently shooing her away to make room for Jaskier to stand, arm going around Jaskier’s shoulder to help him limp back into the building.

“Lambert! Keep her training!” Jaskier calls over his shoulder, although the movement of doing so makes him groan. But obviously he’s not listened to as they all follow them back into the main lounge area. 

Gingerly he’s set onto one of the chairs by the table and Geralt leaves, presumably to go and get the sewing kit they kept for occasions like this. Lambert takes his place though.

“You’ll be fine.” He grunts, kneeling down to inspect the wound.

“Tell that to the stab wound in my leg.” He’s trying to joke, because he can see how worried Ciri looks when he glances at her. And he was an entertainer, he could smile and laugh through his pain if it meant relieving her of her misplaced guilt

“I am. We don’t have anything here for you.”

“Then it’s a good thing I heal a little quicker. Give me a few days and it’ll be fine. Less than that even.”

“Move Lambert.” Lambert shifts out of the way when Geralt commands, and Jaskier looks up and away to avoid watching what Geralt would do next. For as soft as Geralt had been with him lately, they both knew how much he hated this, the pain and pull on his skin, the itch and the look of them. So he’s quick and almost brutal as he stitches Jaskier up. Jaskier to his own credit, doesn’t make a sound as this is happening. Instead he just tilts his head back, bottom lip firmly between his teeth as he focuses on the high vaulted ceilings and not the pain in his leg.

“Surely.” He gasps when Geralt gives him a quick pat to the side of his leg to signal that he was done with the stitching and then bandaging. “The wound wasn’t that bad to have that done.”

“No. It was very shallow. We just like to torture you.” Geralt rolls his eyes then as he stands.

“Ciri, you go with Eskel and Lambert to keep training. Remember, you wanted to do this until lunch.”

“But-” Jaskier looks over as Ciri gestures to him and he grins before standing. It hurts like hell, especially when he puts weight onto it. But he grits his teeth and walks a few steps.

“Look, all fine. Now go on.” He continues to grit his teeth as she gives him one last unimpressed and worried look before turning and going outside to where Eskel and Lambert had already left to. 

It’s only once she’s outside and the doors have closed that Jaskier collapses back into the chair with a high gasp.

“Fuck, fuck that hurt fuck.”

“Idiot.” Geralt grunts, but then he runs a quick hand through Jaskiers hair. “Wait here, i’ll go and get you some more pants.”

“Patch these ones up while you’re at it?” Jaskier tries again to joke, but Geralt can see through him and just levels him with a flat look before disappearing up the stairs.

“Bastard!” Jaskier calls after him, not meaning it one bit. Distracting himself is hard while he waits, so it’s a good thing Geralt doesn’t keep him waiting long.

It’s a little embarrassing, having Geralt help him dress in the new pants. But only because of how hard he was trying to calm his heart. He’s so focused on that that he doesn’t register Gerlt starting to sew up his pants when he sits down heavily next to him, and when he notices Jaskier gasps in mock shock.

“Oh Geralt, you do care.”

“Shut up. You get one day of this before you go back to doing everything yourself.”

“Hmm if you say so.” Jaskier shifts so he can look at Geralt properly, leaning his arm against the top of the chair back to rest his chin in his hand. “Do you think Ciri will be okay?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s killed things before.” And she had, Geralt had taught her to hunt as soon as he could, and she had helped with one or two smaller monsters.

“But never experienced friendly fire I guess.” Jaskier hums to himself. “She’ll be fine.”

Geralt just grunts in affirmation.

“Thank you, for helping me.”

“Every time you thank me and every time I tell you you don’t need to.” Geralt doesn’t look up from the sewing.

“Just because some of us have manners Geralt.” Jaskier sniffs, joking once again. He grins when it gets Geralt to smile. “But really, how deep was it?”

Geralt hesitates. “If you had been human, you would have been in danger.”

“Ah.”

He gets a small hum in response. 

“See any of my bones?”

“No. Some muscle though.”

“So you admit i’ve got muscled thighs. Thank you for noticing. All that walking you make me do really has toned them up don’t you think?”

“Okay i’m finished.” Jaskier can see him trying not to laugh, although the rolled eyes and annoyed huff are far more obvious. And Jaskier is so caught up in that that he barely manages to catch the pants thrown in his face.

“Geralt!”

“Come on back outside, or are you scared now?”

“Oh fuck you, help me out.”

Geralt does, surprisingly without complaining, and once they’re outside again he sits with Jaskier with their backs against the stables. Jaskier’s lute is right where he left it, or abandoned it, he liked to think he just left it, so he grabs it and starts playing.

It takes a few tries to get right, and he’s not happy with the melody. But it was a joke at most, so he couldn’t care about it too much. Once he’s sure that the crossbows are mostly away or aimed at the floor at least, he lets his voice ring out across the courtyard.

_“Oh Lion cub of Cintra,_  
_Whose praise and glory be._  
_Not one for a knack with crossbows,_  
_Just ask the arrow in my knee.”_

“YOU BRUTE!” 

Ciri practically flies over then, and Geralt catches her just before she pounces on him, probably forgetting about his leg in her amused fury.

“You wanted songs! So this is the first!” Jaskier just leans back, arms protectively going around his lute. He’s laughing too though, hearing it echo around the courtyard.

“You’re a scoundrel! You truly are!”

“And that is what makes a good bard my dearest cub. Now go on, Lambert is waiting. I will continue composing.” She shrieks again, but it’s to hide her unwelcome laughter he knows and she wiggles out of Geralt’s grasp to stomp back to Lambert, picking up the crossbow again.

“Now she won’t feel guilty.” He says under his breath to Geralt as he sits down again. He doesn’t leave any space between them, shoulder going to rest against Jaskier’s own as he presses their thighs together. Although that part is gentle given he’s on the side Jaskier was shot.

Geralt just hums, a low sound deep in his throat and Jaskier doesn’t respond. He just starts playing again, something softer and more serious.

He would be writing ballads for Ciri for the rest of his days, detailing her triumphs and adventures. But for now, he thinks what she needs is a lullabye. Something quiet for the cold, something to keep her young for as long as possible. He’d written her plenty of lullabyes already, getting her to sleep sometimes required lullabies after a bad night. But they were never truly about her.

This one would be. 

Or that’s what he sets out to do. But somehow it turns into the song he had started writing on the night Geralt had found out about the dragon hunters, and he barely stops himself from muttering the lyrics as the chords start to shape themselves.

Once he realises he stops, shaking his head to clear away the thoughts and tries again. This happens a few times, and eventually he stops with a frown. Putting the lute down he sighs.

“I think maybe I need a rest, or something. This isn’t working.” His frustration eclipses any feelings he has about the way Geralt hasn’t left his side. “For fuck sake.”

“We’re getting lunch soon. Maybe that will help?” Eskel wanders over, leaning next to them as he crosses his arms. “Lacking a muse bard?”

“Hmm.” It was quite the opposite. But Jaskier wasn’t about to spill his secrets in front of his muse. Especially when said muse had no idea he was a muse past the obvious.

“If you’re looking for a muse you’ve got plenty of options.” He smirks, and Jaskier manages a weak smile back.

He goes to hum again, but Geralt growls before he can. “Fuck off Eskel.”

This just gets the other to laugh. And Jaskier hears the teasing in his tone. Something he had heard from bands of siblings he had played for in towns, none of them barely old enough to have snuck out. Although he’d never heard anything like the sort from his own siblings. Too proud to even associate with him.

That thought makes him stop again and sigh as he gets lost in his own thoughts, although he tunes back into the conversation when Geralt hauls him up.

“C’mon. Vesemir should be almost done with lunch.” He practically drags him back into the warmth of the main room, and thankfully Eskel manages to grab his lute at Jaskier’s indignant squawk. He grabs for it even as he’s being placed down and Eskel just laughs as he hands it over, sitting opposite the pair.

Eskel goes to say something, but there’s a shriek from outside and a whined “Geralt!” that cuts the conversation off in its tracks, and both Eskel and Jaskier watch as Geralt rolls his eyes but gets up, heading back outside, closing one of the doors behind him.

“Grouchy bastard.” Eskel laughs. “A good man though. No matter how much he frowns.”

“You’re right there.” Jaskier stretches his hurt leg out and winces, watching Eskel as he eyed him.

“He’s your muse isn’t he. The one you didn’t want to admit to.”

“Am I that obvious?” His chest twists at being caught out, but he didn’t have it in him to deny it.

“Not to him.” Eskel shrugs, leaning back to stretch himself. “But he’s as dumb as a box of rocks when it comes to things like feelings so you have to spell it out for him.”

“But you caught on.”

“Only because he’s like my brother and you look for any opportunity to piss off your siblings.” He grins then, all teeth and wickedness and Jaskier chuckles. He wished he had that.

“I’ll take your word for it. And as long as you don’t reveal my feelings of course.”

“No. That’s something you’ve got to do yourself.”

“Urg, that’s so much effort though.” He leans back, lute now in hand again as he aimlessly strums.

“Good things always are bard. I should know, being a witcher and all.”

“Is this your way of trying to get a ballad about you? Because I can make one that’s not sad despite my lamenting earlier. So you don’t have to be telling me your sob story.” 

“But what if it’s the greatest tragedy you’ve ever heard?” Eskel leans forward then, chin in his hand in a way that reeks of being a younger sibling trying to get something from a parent. Or in this case, a brother's best friend.

It’s adorable in a ‘your younger sibling is bothering me way’, and Jaskier laughs at the imagery.

“I hear a lot about tragedy.”

“So what’s one more story to add to your repertoire?”

Jaskier sighs, acting put upon. As if he wasn’t already going to use his time at Kaer Morhen to write about the small group of witchers. He was one to take inspiration anywhere he could get, and if he could improve their reputation while he was doing it then all the better.

“You’ve twisted my arm you bastard. So, where do we begin?”

His story doesn’t end until halfway through lunch. Although it’s not helped when Lambert and Geralt come back, adding in details and calling Eskel out on some of his bullshit. Ciri and Vesmir just listen to the entire thing wearing eerily matching smiles. It would be cute if they weren’t sitting next to one another, heads turning practically in sync to follow the conversations across the table.

Once he’s finished Jaskier nods. “I’ll get back to you about it. Might question you later.”

“I’ll be waiting for it.” 

If Jaskier wasn’t sitting right next to him, he’d probably miss the way Geralt growls, deep and near silent in his chest, at Eskel’s comment. And he looks between the pair quizzically, watching as Eskel’s face practically lights up at the noise before his features turn into a smirk.

Lambert, catching this, smacks at him. But then he smirks at Jaskier and all Jaskier can do is sit in the quiet and be confused.

So, he sat and let them talk around him. His wound wasn’t bad, not now that it was stitched and it had settled, but he could use it as an excuse if anyone asked why he wasn’t joining the conversation.

Of course though, Geralt catches on. And when Jaskier begs off to his room for the rest of the afternoon after lunch he’s unsurprised when Geralt follows him.

“More of last night?” He asks, when they get to Jaskier’s room and close the door. And Jaskier nods.

“I’m not used to any of this.” It’s not much of an explanation, not really. But Geralt hums as if he understands.

Yanking his boots off while he stands is painful but he does it, and he throws them back onto the floor unceremoniously, along with his jacket. It was fur lined, since he had had to be out in the cold, but he wouldn’t need it under his mountain of blankets.

“I just. Seeing you all interact. I guess it brought back memories.” He practically collapses into his nest, although he doesn’t lie down. Instead he sits and waits until Geralt sits next to him, and Jaskier grabs a blanket to pull over the pair of their laps.

“Memories?”

“More, memories I don’t have. You all act like begrudging siblings. I guess seeing you all together brought back memories of my own family and how we were never.” He waves a hand. “Like that.”

He sighs once again, going to rub at his temples. “Really. I don’t think about these things for decades and suddenly it all comes flooding back.”

“Probably because you know we all know.”

“Hmm.” What can he say? They both know Geralt is right.

“Really, I must have rubbed off on you if all you’re doing is humming.” Jaskier looks over, rolling his neck a little to see Geralt grinning at him.

“Guess you have. Sorry. We’ve only been here a day and i’m already kicking up a fuss.”

“You’re not.” Geralt’s voice is deep and quiet, and Jaskier can’t help but lean into the reassurance which translates to him leaning heavily against Geralt’s side.

“Well I feel like I am. And I know i’m dramatic but even i’m getting too much for myself.”

“You can’t help what’s happening to you.” Geralt is a solid steady presence, as always.

“I could do a better job at pretending like I was fine with it though. I’m an actor, i’m supposed to be good at this.” He snorts to himself sadly, shaking his head.

“Hmm. You can’t act in front of witchers. You couldn’t act in front of me.”

“Why, because of your smelling stuff?”

It’s Geralt’s turn to snort then. “Partly. But also because I know you. We’ve traveled together for too long.”

“Hmm. You asked me to return, you can’t get rid of me now.”

“You say that as if we’d want to.” He pauses for a second and Jaskier feels his breath hitch as if he’s going to say something else, but he stays quiet.

Because it’s just them there, Jaskier prods. Literally. “Go on, finish your thought.” He pokes gently at Geralt’s side and Geralt huffs.

“As if i'd want to.” His eyes are trained on the ceiling. “You’re our bard.”

“Well.” Jaskier reaches up to tap Geralt’s cheek. “It’s a good thing you’re my witcher then as well isn’t it?” Geralt smiles then, beams even. And Jaskier grins right back.

He leans his head against Geralt’s shoulder. Something they were both used to. The casual affection ingrained within their dynamic now. He wants to say something further, something about family. But now wasn’t the time. 

“Are you staying here while I sleep? Or going downstairs?”

“I think I should go and make sure Ciri isn’t forcing Lambert to do her bidding.”

They both chuckle then, because Ciri definitely had everyone wrapped around her little finger. 

“Go. Don’t wake me? I think whatever this is I need to sleep it off.”

“Okay.” Geralt gets up and Jaskier lets himself slump down, head thumping heavily onto the pillows as he arranges himself, grinning up at Geralt when he throws a wayward blanket over him.

“Night.” He mutters, getting as cozy as he can and he hears Geralt grunt in response before leaving. Door a heavy click behind him.

It’s hard to get to sleep without Geralt there. But he manages it.

-

He wakes up to complete darkness, and he stumbles around in a panic before he can light a candle. Taking a second, he listens to the silence of the place. Everyone must be asleep. Taking that into account, he dresses into sleep clothes, feet going back into his boots as he wraps one of the warmer blankets around his shoulders before he grabs his lute, both of his notebooks, and quietly hobbles downstairs.

The remnants of the fire are still smouldering so he puts his things down on one of the comfortable chairs near it and takes a few minutes to stoke it back into something that could keep him warm. Then, taking orders from his stomach, he goes into the kitchens to look for something to eat.

Expecting just some bread in the cupboard, he’s surprised to find a large covered bowl on the side with a note on it that just reads ‘Jask’. 

“Oh.” He gasps to himself quietly, heart warmed thoroughly given that he’d know Geralt’s scratchy handwriting anywhere. A quick look underneath the cover reveals it to be more stew so he does a quick hunt for a few slices of bread and some cutlery before going back to the fire once he’s found both.

Dragging the chair closer, he lays his lute gently on the carpet before re-wrapping himself in the large blanket. Once he’s sat and comfortable, he tucks into the food which is even good cold. And after making a meal of it, suitably full and content, he takes out both of his notebooks.

The sad refrain from the previous morning still lingers in the back of his mind, and now he’s alone he’s able to pick his lute back up and play properly, albeit quietly. Putting words to chords about being comfortable but sad in his unrequited state. It’s short, for one his own songs, but it feels right when he writes it all down. And once it’s exactly to his liking, he moves on.

His private songs were ones he didn’t dwell on. And there were only a few he dared to play to an audience, and only then if they weren’t receptive of his more jaunty ones. Sometimes people just wanted heartbreak, but he had a good few about that that already worked and didn’t hurt too badly to play anymore. So he wasn’t in the market to add any more to that particular catalogue.

“Oh to be yours, to be yours.” He mutters, something early on from the secret notebook that he was able to play in public. Because the night was dark and his thoughts were heavy, he lets himself fall into the melancholy. Hands finding familiar chords and strings as he sings. Song after song after song.

_“I’m weak my love, and I am wanting_  
_If this is the path I must trudge_  
_I welcome my sentence_  
_Give to you my penance_  
_Garrotter, jury and judge.”_

Her Sweet Kiss was one of his more popular ones, and he’d played it so many times it makes sense that that’s the one he defaults to playing. He would try writing more, but his brain was too clouded, even writing wouldn’t help.  
  
“I’ve never heard you sing that one before.” He jumps out of his skin as he whirls around, peering over the back of the chair only to find Ciri standing at the bottom of the stairs, her own blanket around herself.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, I wake up all the time. Do you mind company?”

“Never if it’s you.” She smiles then, coming over to drag her own chair next to the fire. She crosses her legs, curling up properly and Jaskier starts playing again.

“I wrote that after Geralt and I fought.” He offers up and she nods, leaning forward.

“That was why you and Geralt were arguing when you first got me wasn’t it?”

“It was indeed. Did we ever tell you what it was about?”

“No.”

“Well. We were hunting dragons.” She gasps then, and he nods. “We were hired to protect them from the ones who would be hunting them. Although we were all in the same party. Very confusing now that I think about it. And afterwards, after the battle and the dragons were safe, all without consulting me by the way, he and Yennefer argued, and then he blamed me for it. Said some very unkind things. And I left.”

“Did you love him then?”

“Oh i’ve loved him since the day he defended me to those elves. Hey!” Her question and his answer only register after he’s told her and he flushes, to her giggling amusement.

“Oh come on. You’re both so obvious. You act like my grandparents. It’s sweet."

“I don’t think it’s mutual sweet pea. But i’m okay with that. I’ve spent so much of my life yearning, i’m not entirely sure what i'd do now if anything changed.”

“Well, maybe they should, given how both in love you are.” It was sweet, her giving him the go-ahead. As if he would ever do anything. Her knowing doesn’t really come as a surprise either, he was an obvious love-struck idiot. It seemed that everybody could see it except Geralt. And he’s not sure if he’s thankful for that or not.

“You’ll be the first to know if they do.”

“Oh I probably will be given that i’m the one travelling with you.” She grins then cheekily and waggles her eyebrows and he swats at her

“Where in the world did you pick up such vulgar things child!” 

“You, when you’re drunk. And you hear an awful lot of things in taverns.”

“We’re never going into a tavern ever again then, and i’m never getting drunk again. Ever.”

She just giggles. “You say that now.”

“I’de promise if I didn’t know i’de break it.”

They pause then, just basking in the quiet of the quiet strum of Jaskier’s lute and the cracks of the fire.

“Are you feeling better, after your rest?” Eventually Ciri speaks up, although she sounds drowsier now than she had been.

“A little.” It’s not a lie. “I think i’m just overwhelmed. I’ll go back to normal soon I promise.”

“Geralt was worried.”

“Geralt always worries.”

“He was pacing. And growling. But, more than usual.” She frowns then, something concerned and Jaskier stops playing to reach a hand out and run it gently over the crown of her head.

“I’ll tell him to stop worrying in the morning. Neither of you need to, i’ll be fine.”

“But you were sick and then I shot you and then you had to sleep and-” Her voice wavers.

“Oh darling shush.” He’s up and kneeling before her chair in an instant, lute forgotten although carefully placed to the side as he wraps her in his arms and the second blanket. The pain in his thigh is forgotten too. He was a dragon, he could deal with it if it meant making sure that Ciri was okay. She was strong, of course she was. But he always forgot that sometimes things got too much for her. She was still a child. A child that had seen so much heartbreak and fear.

The wave of protection that sweeps over him has nothing to do with him being a dragon this time. He loved Ciri as if she were his own, and seeing her so torn up over something so unimportant to do with him made him feel sick. She deserved all the happiness in the world, to feel safe. Not deal with his bullshit.

“We’re both fine I promise. You’re fine. We’re safe here. I’m okay. It’s all just nerves and newness.”

“You don’t have to be nervous with us.” She’s not crying, but she’s shaking a little. 

“Never with you and Geralt. Never I promise. I’m just not used to people knowing who I am and not hurting me for it.” He leans back, holding her by her shoulders.

“Maybe that’s why you and Geralt get on so well.”

He hums, and the sound brings a smile to her face. “Maybe it is sweet pea.”

“Can you sing the one I hadn’t heard again?”

“As many times as you want my dear.”

So he plays until she’s asleep, rotating through the slower and quieter songs until she’s snuffling into a sleep that he knows is deep.

Picking her up is easy even with his hurt leg, she was still small for her age, and he carefully makes his way back up the stairs and gently deposits her in her room. He doesn’t look around, her things were her things and her privacy was her privacy. But he makes sure to properly tuck her in before leaving, planting a kiss to her forehead before he goes downstairs to get his things and bank the last remnants of the fire.

Once he’s back in his own room, he settles down again and finds that sleep finds him easy this time.

-

He wakes to Geralt’s voice, low and warm in the room, and he rolls towards it, reaches for it with grabby hands which gets a high giggle from someone else.

“See, he’s fine Ciri.”

“Wha?” Sitting up, he rubs at his eyes to find the room bathed in warm firelight again, and a quick glance towards the window shows that it’s dark outside. 

“You slept the whole day.” Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier focuses his eyes properly to see both him and Ciri sitting in front of the fire.

“And the pair of you just let me? Honestly, people are going to be spreading rumours about the lazy bard and-” He babbles like he would if his heart wasn’t aching. And it gets Ciri to light up, so it works.

“See, he’s fine.” Geralt rolls his eyes, although when Ciri gets up and turns around his features turn into a frown.

“Oh, go off and train. Give me a few more hours then i’ll be awake.” He still hasn’t gotten up.

“Lazy!” She tuts, even as she’s walking over to hug him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes.” It’s easy, for a lie. “Now, leave me for a few more hours to laze. I haven’t had a chance to do that recently.”

“Fine.” she huffs but smiles obviously taking him at his word, hugging him tightly before flouncing out of the room.

“So how are you really doing?” Geralt asks as soon as the door is closed and Jaskier lets himself flop back.

“How do you think?”

“Dick.” Geralt mutters, coming over to sit heavily within the nest. 

Jaskier doesn’t protest, just rolls over enough for Geralt to get the picture and lie down too. “I feel like shit.” He offers, and Geralt nods.

“More of the same?” He asks, and Jaskier settles, just managing to stop himself from resting his hands against Geralt’s chest.

“Yeah. And my leg aches.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Only if you can make my awful fucking pining stop.” He mutters. Because in his dreams he had seen his family, relived the moments his parents had turned their back on him. The rest of his family. His bonded.

“Hmm?” Geralt would be tilting his head if he could and Jaskier groans.

“Urg. Just.” He sighs again. “Seeing you all interact, just reminds me i’m not bonded. It’s stupid really. Really fucking stupid.”

“Jask. It’s not stupid.” Again with the nickname. It only makes everything hurt more.

“It is! Because they left me! So how the fuck could anyone else want to bond with me if my family don’t even want to? It’s stupid to even let myself think about the possibility!”

Geralt stops him from turning over with a hand on his arm, hands warm.

“What’s brought this on? You’ve seen people close before.” Geralt’s trying, Jaskier can see it. Expression confused as he looks over Jaskiers face.

“It’s because for the first time. People know. And don’t seem to feel anything about it. I’m so used to being hunted for it, or not wanted because of it. My brain, I think it just jumped to conclusions and then got disappointed.” 

“What conclusions?”

“I think. And please don’t hate me.” He laughs then, harsh and anxious. “I think my brain just, somewhere along the line, saw it as an opportunity to bond. But that’s never going to be an option with me being. Well me. So I shut it down. And now I know i’m in a place where I don’t have to hide myself. My dragon instincts, they’re rearing their ugly fucking head and i’m tired of battling it all. I think.”

It’s a revelation in itself. All of it. “Fuck Geralt, i’m here for less than a week and I already fuck up. That must be a record.”

The hug is not surprising but not wholly expected either, and he buries his face into Geralt’s chest as he starts to sob again.

He hated being a dragon. He hated the rush of overwhelming feelings that constantly plagued him. He hated being in a place that didn’t care, they let him let his guard down. Because that wouldn’t be forever. The winter would end and they would move on, and he would go back to being hunted. He couldn’t fool himself into thinking he was safe, get too comfortable. Because one day, neither Geralt nor Ciri would need him and off they’d go. He couldn’t allow himself the hope that they’d let him stay around forever. Let him bond.

A few months of being close in the cold couldn’t mean anything. Especially not to Geralt. It couldn’t. Not with Jaskier being what he was. How he was.

“Shh, shh now. I’ve got you.” Geralt is holding him tight, one hand soothing over Jaskier’s hair which just makes him sob harder. 

“Shh Jask. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The quiet assurances continue until Jaskier stops crying, and when he does Geralt pulls back to wipe at his face.

“What’s stopping you from bonding with us? You love Ciri more than anything on this earth-”

“Because one day neither of you will want me and move on. I can’t have a repeat of my family leaving me I can’t. Shit.” He turns away, going to lie on his back. “I’ve repressed this shit for decades and suddenly it hits me all once.”

“We’d never leave you. Jaskier i’de never-”

“You did before! And look, i’ve accepted your apology and moved on you know I have. But everyone gets sick of me. I’m too much. Always. My dragon instincts get the better of me all the time and people hate it. I hate it.”

“They keep you safe. Keep us safe. You feeling, it’s not a bad thing.” He takes a deep breath in. “And I’de never leave you again Jaskier. You must know that I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.”

“You can’t say things you don’t mean Geralt, please-”

Geralt shuts him up with a kiss. 

Jaskier’s brain empties, all thoughts leaving to focus on the feeling of Geralt’s chapped lips on his own. 

“Geralt?” It’s Geralt that breaks away first, pupils blown. And he goes to move but Jaskier rolls back over onto his side, hand going to Geralt’s arm to keep him in place.

“I heard you last night. With Ciri. Talking. And she’s right. I love you. My heart broke, hearing some of the songs you sang. I couldn’t bear you going through that any longer.”

It’s the first time Jaskier had ever heard Geralt ramble, and all he can do is listen in a haze.

“I love you too.” Is what he can manage back, barely. Because how long had he been waiting for this? Willing it to happen, yet thinking it never would.

“Oh, oh good.” Geralt stops his rambling, and then they’re both awkward and silent. Just looking at one another.

“This, bonding. Kissing me. It means forever Geralt. With me. You can’t just be doing this out of pity-”

Geralt kisses him again, fierce instead of hesitant this time. All tongue and teeth, hands going to cup Jaskier’s face to keep him still.

“If you think i’ve ever pitied you then you’re gravely mistaken.” He kisses him again, and Jaskier leans into it again, chasing Geralt’s lips when he breaks away. “I’ve loved you for years. Half a decade maybe? A decade? I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” This makes Jaskier draw back a little, although not out of Geralt’s reach as he raises an eyebrow.

“I know i’ve felt like this for a while.” He huffs. “But it wasn’t until I saw those signs hunting for you that I realised what they were.”

“Oh.” Jaskier blinks. “Of course it takes me being in proper danger for you to realise your feelings.” Jaskier can’t help but laugh. “Only you would figure out your feelings that way.”

“You’re the one who always calls me emotionally stunted.” Geralt huffs, and Jaskier can’t help but lean in to kiss the small frown from his lips.

“I’m honestly surprised you confessed first.” He admits. “I thought i'd be the first to break. Or well, the only one to break.”

“Why would you be the only one to break?”

“Because I never thought you could like me, never mind love me.” He waves a hand, before worming them under Geralt’s arms from where they were still around Jaskier to hold his face, resting them on Geralt’s chest.

“Jaskier-”

“You never showed any interest. Or well, none that I could pick up. Apparently according to both Ciri and Eskel i’m not subtle. But apparently neither are you.”

“I’ve never known subtly.”

“I guess I just refused to see what was in front of me then.” He reaches up to brush his fingers against Geralt’s cheekbone, the slope of his nose, the delicate skin under his eyes and smiles as Geralt leans into it.

The instincts him him in a rush, or maybe they had done when they had first kissed. And he can’t help but anchor his free hand onto Geralt’s hip. Holding him there to keep him close, make him Jaskier’s. If only for the moment.

“Hm. Lambert spoke to me a few times too. Said I should hurry up otherwise somebody else would get you.”

“As if my heart could ever belong to another.” Jaskier scoffs. “Wait, do you think they’ve all been planning this? They move and plan very quickly.”

“Probably.” Geralt’s eyes are soft and warm, his hands going to cradle Jaskier’s face impossibly softer. “My heart, it couldn’t belong to another either. Not now.”

“You say that now.” It slips out, he was so used to people giving him all this bullshit then leaving. “Sorry, sorry.” Because what was he saying? He had Geralt in his arms, even if it was only for a short time. Or, a short time in comparison to their long lives. A few years maybe at best, he would take what he could get.

There was no denying he wanted this, and no matter what it would all end in heartbreak. So why not have Geralt in his arms until it did? The rational part of his brain, the one screaming at him to break them apart and refuse, was quietened by the dragon instincts. The ones that had reared their head. Making him want to bond, and claim, and stay. To add Geralt to his tiny little hoard and never let him leave. To keep him. And his kiss addled senses, drunk on the sweet words of the witcher, were letting the instincts take over.

“I’ll prove I mean it. I promise you.”

“You promised to keep me safe and you’ve done just that.” Jaskier whispers, leaning in to nuzzle at Geralt’s jawline. “I’m gonna let myself believe you. Because I don’t think I could take it otherwise.”

He shuffles backwards then, out of Geralt’s grasp which Geralt grunts at, only to gently smack at him while grabbing another blanket to wrap around Geralt properly.

“You’re lucky I like you. Otherwise i'd get very territorial over these blankets right now.”

“That’s another of your instincts?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier hums in agreement.

“It’s one that’s normally easy to ignore. Or well, easier by comparison. But feelings like this, I wouldn’t let anybody in the room normally. Never mind my nest.”

“So me and Ciri are exceptions to that then?” He’s smiling, slow and happy as his eyes close and Jaskier could look at that expression forever.

“You always have been. The pair of you.”

“It sounds.” Geralt raises a hand again to run through Jaskier’s hair and keep it there, hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Like you’ve already bonded with us.”

“I’ve spent years trying not to.” He admits. Not that it would take much for Geralt to figure out on his own.

“Then stop trying not to, and do it.” For all the sweetness, there’s a daring tone to Geralt’s voice. And it’s punctuated by a gentle nip to his jaw that has Jaskier’s eyes rolling into the back of his head.

So for the first time in however long, he gives in.

It’s not something huge, or dramatic. In fact, it’s pretty anticlimactic. It’s a kiss to Geralt’s jaw in return and a warmth, spreading through his veins. It’s like being tipsy, but having clarity still. Like a night of good food and drink, full of stories while you’re curled up around a fire. Like feeling someone’s arms around you for the first time in a while.

It feels like coming home.

The anxiety he feels eases, turning into something smaller in his chest. And his heartbeat slows to something normal. Although that changes when he surges to kiss Geralt again and again, laughing in between breaths. Unable to do anything else.

“I love you. My dearest darling witcher. Mine. Yours. My own. My love.”

“Love you too.” Geralt just laughs back. “My bard. Mine. Yours, always.”

Jaskier would hate how he was talking if it wasn’t reciprocated. Wasn’t said back every time he mutters it into Geralt’s skin. How Geralt seemed to laugh, not at his stupid muttering, but with him. At how odd and surprising this whole situation was. Because this was the most unexpected thing to happen, out of things to possibly happen. Yesterday Jaskier would have laughed in the face of anybody who suggested it.  
  
And yet here they were.


	2. Chapter 2

-

They must fall asleep at some point, because when Jaskier wakes it’s light outside, and Geralt is in his arms, head on Jaskier’s chest.

“Regretting it yet?” He asks, voice hoarse with disuse. And it’s enough to get Geralt to wake up, shaking his head as he registers what Jaskier had said.

“Never.” All Jaskier does is hum, running his fingers through Geralt’s hair.

“They’re going to be insufferable. All of them.” He says eventually.

“And we’ll bear it.” Geralt leans up to kiss at his jawline before rolling over, taking the blankets with him which Jaskier groans at. “Come on.”

“You’re the worst.”

“And yet you bonded with me anyway.” He looks up to find Geralt smirking, but it quickly gives way to a fond smile when Jaskier pouts at him.

“You’re never going to stop saying that are you?”

“Never.”

“Alright fine. Let’s go down then.” 

He doesn’t say anything about the anxiety and fear that floods its way back into his chest in the harsh light of day. And it makes him stop when he stands, head spinning with it until Geralt takes him under his arm, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“It’ll be fine. This is good. This is a good thing.” He kisses it again when Jaskier melts into the embrace. A perk of letting himself bond, just the touch from somebody bonded instantly flooded him with relief. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Jaskier, despite his misgivings, can’t help but take that to heart.

They dress, Geralt practically forcing extra layers onto Jaskier, grunting about it being even colder today despite only wearing one jacket himself. And if they kiss in between layers, there’s nobody there to stop them.

Once dressed they head downstairs, Jaskier once again under Geralt’s arm, finding the heaviness soothing. Having a bonded one so close alway was, but having them be in contact was even better.

“Oh good. He’s finally awake. And the other one’s over his bullshit!” Eskel cries as soon as he spots them being the only one to be facing the stairway. And with the speed that Ciri whips around in her own chair has her hair flying out and hitting Lambert in the face which Jaskier feels Geralt laugh at.

“JASKIER!” Ciri is up in an instant, throwing herself at him in a hug that Geralt supports given his leg was still hurt. Even if it was okay to walk on it at the moment, having someone throw themselves at him would cause him to lose balance easily, and he ignores the spike of pain that shoots up his spine when she accidentally knee’s at the wound.

“My little lion cub! My sweet pea!” He croons into her hair as he holds her, and that feeling of comfort and home settle into his bones again as she laughs and holds onto him tighter.

“Come and eat. Vesemir isn’t up so Lambert made breakfast.”

“Is he okay?” Jaskier asks as he goes to sit down next to Eskel and opposite Ciri, and he smiles to himself when Geralt takes the seat nearest to him.

“Oh he’s fine.” Eskel waves away, and with that confirmation Jaskier grabs a plate to start ladening it with the cooked meat and bread Lambert had prepared. “Just don’t think he wanted to smell you guys after you got together.”

“And yet you guys didn’t fuck so he had nothing to worry about.” Lambert snorts, although he smirks at Jaskier within the next second. “What bard, he not satisfying you properly already?”

Jaskier gasps just as Geralt growls and Eskel throws a piece of bread in Lambert’s direction.

“Not in front of Ciri!” Jaskier says again firmly as Ciri just rolls her eyes at all of them.

Although his admonishing is shattered when Geralt practically growls over him. “I fucking can.”

“Geralt!” He gets a piece of bread thrown at him too from Eskel even as Jaskier reaches out to smack him on the arm, hard.

“What?” Geralt demands, before he looks to Ciri who's gone bright red and is trying very hard to sink into the floor.

“You guys are so gross!” She mutters, hand’s going to cover her face. “I knew you’d be gross.”

“Better get used to it.” Eskel says. “These guys were gross to begin with now it’s going to get worse.”

She groans then, but Jaskier can see that she’s trying not to smile.

“I.” He holds up a hand. “Haven’t done anything yet thank you.”

“You showed me all those sad sappy songs.” Ciri points out.

“You asked for that.”

“I did, but they were still sappy.”

“How come you’ve been here for days already and not given us a performance?” Eskel demands.

“None of you asked.”

“Like that’s stopped you before.” Geralt snorts and Jaskier points an accusing finger towards him.

“You! We’re secretly listening to me singing! So you don’t have an opinion here!”

“Guess I don’t.” Geralt says, the acquiescence a surprise to everyone before Eskel is up, dragging him from the chair to pull him into a headlock. Laughter loud and bright from the pair of them.

“Fuckers gone soft!” He crows, even as they wrestle to the floor and then Ciri and Lambert are shouting, loudy and placing imaginary bets and rooting for well, he’s pretty sure both at the same time, and realises that this must have happened a lot back in their first year there. Something to cheer them up. Or keep them occupied.

Or maybe, this was just how they acted as a rag-tag family. Witcher’s, Jaskier was sure he’d never understand them.

So he leaves them to it, keeping an eye on it even as he eats. Finding his smile growing as the pair wrestled it out, actual maneuvers petering off into childish moves like hair pulling and scratching.

And in the end, neither win. Because Vesemir comes down, interrupting the scuffle long enough that the pair seem to forget and slide back into their chairs.

“If you’re going to do that, do it outside.” Vesemir says, grabbing some of the remnants of the food. “And fucking invite me next time.”

“You were asleep old man.” Lambert drawls. “Not our fault.”

“I see I overslept for no reason though.” Vesemir looks at Jaskier, then Geralt. Although he smiles once he catches something. Something that Jaskier can’t place but will ask Geralt about later.

Or now, given that Ciri get’s up after that, heading back upstairs after Vesemir says something about the day being used to study academically given that it had started snowing heavily.

“Okay seriously, how can you all?” He wiggles his hand. “Tell."

“You can smell if someones had sex.” Eskel shrugs, and Lambert leers at him.

“That I knew.” Jaskier mutters, and then frowns. “I meant how you can tell the other thing.” Because surely, witcher’s couldn’t smell a bond.

“Geralt smells so fucking self satisfied and happy. Something good must have happened.” Lambert shrugs.

“Oh. So you don’t know-”

“Don’t know what?” Eskel leans in. And fuck, witcher’s were gossips.

Geralt answers for him though, crossing his arms. “That we bonded. Obviously.”

Eskel and Lambert just look confused, because obviously that wouldn’t be covered in the usual dragon education that they must have had. But Vesemir was nodding.

“Then you better not fuck it up Geralt.”

“I don’t plan to.” Jaskier’s just surprised the warning isn’t given to him. Given that the witchers were the closest to one another. It would make sense for him to get threatened, to be told not to hurt Geralt.

But then again, Geralt had to get that low self esteem from somewhere.

“And I don’t either.” He adds. Because it was him who needed the bond here. It would be his fault no matter what happened if something did.

“Ciri’s right. You’re both fucking disgusting.” Lambert snorts. And really, Jakier couldn’t blame him for saying that.

That day he lets himself indulge in his impulses, his instincts. Because Geralt is there, watching him and smiling and not caring. And how can he not, when he feels so safe? With Geralt nearby, not leaving his sight, and barely going further than an arms distance away, the relief and bliss of letting himself bond leaves him in a heady state.

So he lets himself curl up by the large fire, a few blankets on the floor that he lounges on, Geralt either sitting next to him or on a chair, book in hand but not reading. All while Ciri sat at the table with Vesemir, and he strums his lute quietly. Enough to be background noise and keep his hands busy while he listens in. Letting himself learn snippets too.

Spending the day like that is nice. Even when he takes a break from the warmth to go and tend to the horses with Geralt, not wanting to leave his side. It’s nice, being silent together given that he was too tired really to be anything other than quiet. And seeing Buttercup happy and lively is wonderful. She seems to understand what’s going on with him and they spend the hour playfully moving around one another as he brushes her, getting a stray tail flick to the face or a headbutt every now and then that he takes with a chuckle and a kiss to her nose.

-

They all spend the next week like that, given that the snow only gets heavier so the most they can do is clear a space in the main room to have Ciri train with daggers and short swords in between her magic studying. It’s training he even manages to use too. He was handy with a dagger already, but he’s able to learn a few things with the short sword just in case he ever needed to use one. It’s good to stretch his leg too. It had healed properly within the week, just some scarring left to heal over fully. But the training was good to make sure his leg didn’t stiffen up and the more he used his leg the less the pain felt.

Geralt never leaves his side. And that’s the best part about it. Having his bonded within reach constantly. Because it’s not just Geralt. It’s being able to look over at Ciri and have her smile back, have her crawl into the nest with him and Geralt after a nightmare, or sometimes just because she was cold and used to it by now.

It was having a family again.

That dawns on him at exactly the week after mark and it startles him. Although it doesn’t make him sick, like it would have done. It makes him sit up straight though, taking stock of the room.

Ciri and Geralt were sparring, blades wooden although still somewhat dangerous given that every now and then he would hear a ‘thwack’ and then an ‘ow’ from either of them followed by laughter. Vesemir was overseeing that from the table, sharpening his own blades for want of something else to do in between correcting their footing or movement. Eskel was sitting in one of the chairs, reading. While Lambert was out hunting for their dinner given it was now his week to cook.

He was safe here. With two of his bonded. And while he might not be close to the other witchers, Geralt was. And that was good enough for him.

Or it would be, eventually. Because he wasn’t close to the other witchers yet. And he doubted he would ever be as close to them as he was to Geralt and Ciri. But they were Geralt’s family. So by extension, they were his.

In the week, he hadn’t really reigned his dragon instincts in, hadn’t found a reason to in his happily foggy state. So he lets himself loop the witchers into the small group of ‘people he would die to defend’ while he’s letting himself think about it.

May as well start showing that somehow.

Stretching out, he taps Eskel’s ankle with his knuckles. Getting the witcher to look down at him.

“Yeah?”

“Want to fuck with ‘em?” He glances at Geralt and Ciri, just barely. And Eskel grins, marking his page as he puts the book down.

“Obviously. What’s the plan?”

“I was just gonna run at them screaming to be honest.”

“Better than anything i’ve got.” Eskel shrugs, before he’s offering a hand to help Jaskier up. “Okay, I get Ciri, you get Geralt. Three, two, one!”

It’s unplanned and yet still hurried as they jump and trip over the furniture in their wake as they both yell, barrelling into the training pair at full speed.

Geralt catches him around the waist, hauling him up and aside as Eskel does the same with Ciri, although he gets whacked with the hilt of the sword for his trouble. He laughs through it though, they all do, as they end up wrestling. It’s not a fair fight on either end. And both Ciri and Jaskier get tossed around as they try to fight back. Jaskier manages to get a few jabs in, and he watches as Ciri resorts to hair pulling which manages to sort of work. But in the end Jaskier ends up on his back underneath Geralt’s hold as Eskel hauls Ciri up, holding her upside down as she shrieks, both him and Ciri now crying surrender. His lungs ached from laughing, and his hand reached out to Eskel to clasp and shake.

“We almost had ‘em.” He’s giggling, letting Geralt help him to his feet, falling into his chest to plant a kiss there. “Should have gone for different people. Then we both would have won.”

“Not on your life!” Ciri pipes up, and then she lunges for him. He lets her take him down, although he starts tickiling her as soon as they’re both on the ground which is a dirty move, but it stops her from doing much else as she’s rendered helpless until he stops, picking her up to collapse once again into Geralt’s chest.

“If you want a real fight. Vesemir and I can show you how it’s done.” Lambert must have come in the back way through the stables and then kitchens. He’s still dressed for the outside weather, snow thick on his boots and jacket.

“Hmm.” Vesemir agrees and stands, cracking his back. “I’m done with these anyway.” He leaves the swords on the table, knowing they’ll go untouched.

“Just let me put the game in the icebox then it’s fucking on old man.”

“He’s gonna kick your ass.” Eskel snorts in Lamberts direction before he goes back to his chair, although he turns it so it’s in full view of where they had just wrestled before he collapses back onto it.

Geralt follows suit, although he falls onto the furs by the fire, beckoning for Jaskier to join him, and how can Jaskier refuse. Ciri perches on the table, feet planted on one of the chairs. Chin in hands, waiting eagerly.

Watching as Vesemir circles the barely covered stone floor, dropping his jacket off to the side Jaskier whistles lowly. “Are all of you fucking built?” He hadn’t seen Vesemir outside of the studious and quiet version he knew. This, was very different.

And the fight, well how could he not write something about that? He reaches out for his notebook, hidden amongst the blankets and finds it, grease pencil tucked into the pages and he starts writing immediately.

A witcher fight. One for the ages. For nobility and pride.

“That’s really not what this is. They’re showing off.” Geralt huffs a chuckle over his shoulder, reading as he’s writing.

“Nobody wants to hear about that though darling. No, they want drama.” He flourishes his free hand out, but leans to place an absent minded kiss onto Geralt’s cheek all the same. Small bits of affection had become commonplace. Nothing too grand, too affectionate. But a small kiss or a pet name every now and then had wormed its way quickly and easily into his routine. 

“LAMBERT!” Vesemir calls, breaking their moment. “Stop stalling!”

“I’m coming. I bought two deer in, gimme a second.” He’s shouting even as he walks in though, now free of his jacket and boots, and seeing this Vesemir shucks his own shoes. Apparently one for a fair fight. 

It’s Ciri who speaks up as they start to circle each other, and Jaskier catches the matching beams from Geralt and Eskel as her voice rings out. 

“No hair pulling or biting. No magic. No weapons. Clean and fair. We will rate you at the end.” She adds the last bit like an afterthought, although she smiles devilishly when she does. “Okay go!”

They lunge at each other almost gracefully, and after Jaskier has written down Ciri’s words he tries to keep track of all their movements, noting their grace. It’s more like a dance than a fight. Both trained for so long and knew each other so well that it seems almost choreographed as they predict one anothers moves.

Circling once again, they lunge and retreat as if timed and in tandem. Aggressive and unwavering both, it lasts for minutes. And then tens of minutes. Until Lambert seems to give up and lunges unexpectedly, arms going to Vesemir's torso. And then they’re on the floor, rolling to a stop as Lambert pins him, and it’s a few seconds before Vesemir nods his defeat.

They’re all cheering regardless, and Lambert helps Vesemir up before Ciri clears her throat.

“That was an eight out of ten. Too much time wasted.”

“Oh are we going by out of ten? I say three. Too much posturing.” Eskel laughs, grunting when Lambert throws one of the closest cushions at him.

Jaskier glances back to Geralt, leaning against his shoulder and they share a look, a small nod.

“Six.” They chorus, and then everyone is groaning at them much to their joint delight.

“Insufferable bastards.” Eskel huffs, but he’s smiling.

-

The next day, Jaskier manages to help Lambert in the kitchens when he’s preparing lunch. Or more accurately, he forces Lambert to let him help.

“I know it’s not my week.” He breezes. “But if i’m going to be here all winter I should be at least somewhat useful sometimes.”

Lambert had snorted. “Fine.”

“Ah, another one who barely uses his words. That’s fine. I can talk enough for the both of us.” 

Lambert actually laughs at that though and shakes his head. “I’m not Geralt.”

“And yet here you are, grunting exactly like him. Tell me. Did all of you get the same lessons in etiquette?” 

He helps skin the last of the first deer from the previous night as they slowly start to chatter. Not about much, just a teasing back and forth about Lambert's lack of manners and Jaskier’s general disregard for them. That is until they end up talking about nothing much, just about towns, bits and pieces about their lives. Nothing really past the surface level but good all the same.

“No no. I can dance very well thank you very much. But the count well, I guess I danced with the wrong lady-” 

“Don’t you mean fucked?” They’re roasting the meat, and Jaskier had started to prepare the foraged vegetables that Lambert had actually managed to find when Geralt walks in. Or more accurately, leans in the doorway.

Smirking, he comes further into the room, leaning against an unoccupied bit of counter as he crosses his arms. “Which count was this? There have been a few.”

“Oh shut up.” Jaskier hisses. “If you’re going to talk about my exploits at least do me justice. I have bedded my fair share of Nobles and their wives thank you very much. Sometimes both at the same time.”

“And you always caused us trouble when you did.” Geralt laughs, not looking to move. 

It feels better with him in the kitchen. Although Jaskier had been able to stand it without him there, it had helped he was only a room away. But the slight itch under his skin eases with Geralt just being in reach. 

That would get easier over time.

“Jaskier, a trouble maker?” Lambert gasps, faking shock and Jaskier pulls a tongue at him.

“At least I had fun while I was doing it.” He sniffs and they both leer at him then.

“I bet you did.” Lambert smirks. “You’re taking this awfully well Geralt. What? No dramatic stories of jealousy?”

“This was before he realised.” Jaskier waves a hand. “I haven’t done anything like that since we got Ciri.”

“And it doesn’t really matter.” Geralt is the one to wave his hand, and Jaskier goes back to preparing the vegetables. “He’s mine now.” He hears Geralt before he feels him, sliding up behind him to gently bite at his shoulder, hands coming to wrap themselves around his waist.

Lambert runs them out of the room with a wet washcloth and a lot of shouting.

It’s worth it.

-

He spends a full two weeks doing nothing but studying with Vesemir and Ciri. He knew a little about witcher potions already just because of how long he had travelled with Geralt. But not how to make them. So he spends days and days just pouring over the books Vesemir provides about them, sitting across from Ciri at the table, blanket wrapped about his shoulders as he drank everything in. Occasionally he would ask questions that Vesemir would answer, or correct him about. And while they can’t make anything due to the bad weather outside, there’s a promise of learning how to make them when the weather gets better.

Once he can recite how to make the most important ones, something he had forced himself to be able to do, he starts learning about the witcher magic alongside Ciri. Although he’s so far behind in terms of what he knows that he stays up later and later as the days progress, devouring what he can in an effort to learn as much as he can and keep up. He would never be able to perform anything, but it would help him to know things if Ciri ever had questions. Learning with someone else alway made studying go quicker, he felt.

Both Vesemir and Geralt stay up with him every night. Both chipping in with answers whenever he has questions. Although they talk lowly to one another whenever he gets engrossed.

“I’ve never seen someone so interested before.” Vesemir stretches out one night, tankard of mead in hand as Jaskier studies by candle light. “It would have been much easier if the lot of you were this interested.”

“I need to know for Ciri. Sometimes Geralt will be on a hunt and she might have questions so.” He turns the page as he shrugs before glancing up at the silence that follows.

Geralt is watching him with an intensity to his eyes that Jaskier had never seen before, and Vesemir just smiles softly before turning to Geralt with a smirk.

“Calm the fuck down.” Vesemir drawls, and oh. Geralt blushes, actually blushes. And Jaskier is quick to figure out what the stare means.

“Shut up!” Geralt hisses and then they’re back to bickering then, and with a private smile Jaskier goes back to reading.

-

The touches that Jaskier had been confused about not a few short weeks ago continue. And now knowing the meaning behind them, Jaskier basks in the attention. With how Geralt treated Roach and Ciri, he knew Geralt was gentle and soft beneath it all. And as they had gotten closer over the years he had seen glimpses of it being directed at him. But he had never felt the full force of it, and he adores having it focused solely on him.

It’s nothing too overt. Because Geralt was still Geralt. But it was constant little things. Like Geralt making sure he was warm enough, or throwing a blanket over him absentmindedly, even in the middle of dinner if he thought the bard was cold. And they’d brush hands, linking and unlinking their fingers quickly whenever the other wanted to, like a game almost. Geralt looks at him unabashedly now, not looking away whenever Jaskier catches him, just smiles instead.

Ciri quickly knows not to bother with even trying Geralt’s room if she has a nightmare, because Geralt had taken up permanent residence in Jaskiers nest. Being kissed to sleep every night felt delightful, and waking up in Geralt’s arms is a luxury Jaskier revels in.

Then of course there’s the kissing. Quick pecks placed on top of his head before Geralt leaves his side to get something or leave the room for the moment. Kisses when they’ve just woken up, slow and unhurried as the morning light filters into the room. Deep and dirty ones before they sleep, both almost always too tired to do more than just that but content anyway.

Jaskier lives for it.

-

Even when they get teased by the others. Especially, when they get teased by the others. Because that means he can join in.

-

“Oi, they’re at it again!” Eskel calls when he finds them by the fire. They’re not even really doing anything. Jaskier was lying down with Geralt sitting beside him, but he realises he’s playing with Geralt’s fingers when Eskel stares at them both pointedly.

“What? Could be a lot worse.” He smirks up at Eskel before taking Geralt’s fingers into his mouth as Geralt huffs. Eskel just rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking. “Gross.”

“Hm.” He hums around the digits before Geralt takes them back, wiping them pointedly on Jaskier’s shirt.

-

Lambert groans at them when they’re sparring with the wooden short swords. Or more pointedly, he groans at Geralt as he takes too long to parry a blow from Jaskier.

“You’re going too easy on him! He’s not a delicate flower despite his fucking name!” Lambert growls, which Jaskier takes slight offence to until he sees Geralt blush.

“Oh, it’s the only place he goes easy on me, believe me.” He looks over his shoulder at Lambert who just scowls, sending him a wink.

“Jaskier-” He turns then, seeing Geralt pinch at the bridge of his nose although he’s smiling underneath it, and takes the opportunity to whack him in the legs.

“HAH!”

“Oh you’re in for it now bard!” And he had been gracelessly tackled to the floor.

-

Vesemir had found them in the hallway to their bedrooms on his way to his own. Geralt had him pushed against the wall, kissing down his neck. And Jaskier had sen Vesemir before Geralt, and then delighted when all Vesemir had done was smack Geralt soundly on the back of the head before swanning off to his own room. Leaving Jaskier cackling and unable to continue.

-

They all get closer. With Jaskier making an effort. So he’s surprised they make it to the month mark before sitting down for the night with a proper drink, slowly getting drunker as the night progressed. Ciri had long gone to bed, and Vesemir had brought in couches for them to sit on as well as the chairs. 

There’s talking and more sober stories traded back and forth that Jaskier listens to with an ache in his heart as they drink to the ones they couldn’t save.

It had only taken an hour and a drink before Jaskier had simply laid down on Geralt’s lap, head pillowed on his thighs as he stretched over the rest of the couch. Geralt had thrown a blanket over him, and he had closed his eyes and just listened.

It’s another hour of listening and almost dozing before the questions about him start.

“How did you find out he was a dragon? I only know after meeting Borch-”

“Borch?” Jaskier’s head flies up at the name, all pretense of sleep gone. And when Geralt smiles down at him he knows that at least Geralt knew he was faking.

“I only know through that meeting too. You both smell the same.” Geralt gently nudges him upright and Jaskier sinks into the plush couch further, letting his legs stretch out from where they had been curled to warm in front of the fire. “I eventually put two and two together after watching Borch shift.”

“Before or after the fight?” Jaskier asks, head lolling to look at Geralt who can’t meet his eyes.

“After. When my head cleared.”

“I’m glad to hear Borch is still around. Well, i’m assuming you met him after we did. Did he have a hatchling with him?” He’s too tired to explain about the fight now as he catches Lambert's raised eyebrow, so instead he looks over to Eskel who takes the quick topic shift in his stride.

“He had a younger dragon with him yeah.”

“Glad to hear they’re surviving then.”

“I think I met the mother.” Lambert sighs, and silently toasts his drink to the empty air.

“I’m glad that you left me at the camp on that day.” Jaskier mutters before straightening up. “Alright. Tonight is the only night you get to ask questions because i’m tipsy. One at a time. Go.”

Geralt’s arm falls heavily across his shoulder and he leans into it gratefully.

“What type of dragon are you?” Vesemir starts small.

“Red. From a long line of ‘em but well. Dying out. Yada yada yada.”

“Do you know any other dragons?” Lambert.

“Apart from my family? I know Borch. But that was a chance meeting. We’re spread pretty thin.”

“What’s with the blankets?” Lambert.

“We nest. It’s cozy and safe. You’re all lucky you get to even know I nest. Not many people are allowed the privilege.” 

“Can you actually shift?” Eskel.

“I can, but I haven’t done in about five years at this point. Possibly more, i’ve lost count really.”

“From writings, it is said that a dragon who doesn't shift enough suffers pain. Are you not?” And oh, here came the deep questions. Of course from Vesemir.

“Every day. But it’s worth it to keep Geralt and Ciri safe.”

“Safe?” Eskel tilts his head much like Geralt and it makes him smile despite himself.

“If nobody sees me shift, then there’s nobody to come after me. And if nobody comes after me, they’re safe. So it’s better to never do it and not tempt fate.”

Having Geralt to settle him helps a lot, and if his eyes close as he answers, well nobody calls him out on it.

“Can you not shift here?” Vesemir asks. “This would be the safest place to shift. There’s nobody here to hurt you. And nobody to see.”

Jaskier almost swallows his tongue. “I’ve.” He hesitates. “Been thinking about it.”

“There isn’t any pressure.” Vesemir holds a hand up. “But the offer is there.”

“Thank you.” Jaskier nods. “I haven’t shifted in so long. It’s daunting to even think about.” The ache in his bones seems to intensify just at the thought.

He had been thinking about it, when he let himself. And as they had all gotten closer, the idea only seemed more and more appealing. No matter how much it also made him feel sick just at the thought. It was an odd mixture of feelings, but by now he had learnt to stomach them.

“Well you don’t have to.” Geralt says into the quiet, kissing his temple.

Jaskier nods. “Uh, next question?”

“What’s the bonding you’ve spoken of?” Lambert again. Never one to dance around things.

“I bond with people. It’s a lot more intense than a human bond. It’s like family, but more. And without the blood. People think it’s about fucking but that doesn’t factor into it. Especially given that some of the strongest bonds are between family members. It’s a deep emotional attachment that most humans can’t seem to bear the intensity of. Breaking one causes heartbreak beyond belief. It makes you feel as if you’re dying.”

“Good thing you’ve got a witcher and a lion cub then.” Vesemir toasts, and Jaskier grabs his empty cup from the floor to toast to that. Geralt just brings him closer, kissing his cheek.

“Can you breath fire even without shifting?” Eskel changes the topic once again and Jaskier nods.

“I can. But i’m not going to.” Thankfully they don’t press him. Although they do look disappointed.

“Why don’t you speak of destiny? Tell prophecies that sort of thing.” Vesemir rests his chin in his hand. “Do you not have a link to foresight?"

Jaskier shakes his head but then thinks about it and shrugs. “I have it, a little. But not enough to know things. I get images sometimes, flashes of things. But normally by the time I get them it’s too late or it’s not actually useful. My mother often said I traded that talent for a shittier one. But well, it’s not my fault she never liked my singing.”

He tries to laugh it off. Because really, not having that particular brand of dragon magic had been a blessing. But the memories attached to it and his parents' disappointment over him not having it would haunt him to the end of his days. He’s brought back to the present by Geralt tilting his chin up to kiss him, chaste and quick, but it brings him back into the room and he settles deeper into Geralt's arms.

“Do you not hoard things? Have a cave of treasure somewhere?” Lambert changes the subject, quick and with a roll of his eyes at them.

“Oh he hoards things.” It’s Geralt that answers with a chuckle, kissing the top of his head because apparently tonight he couldn’t stop himself. “But it’s all just blankets.” He slowly starts to run his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm, arranging the blanket to tuck more comfortably every now and then as it slips. All as if he’s unaware he’s doing it.

And really, he might be. They had been comfortable with one another for so long, doing things like this wasn’t a stretch. It wasn’t even a big step. It felt like a natural progression. Like they had been doing this forever.

Both were safe and comfortable. With company they knew wouldn’t judge or care. Neither were in trouble, and both felt lighter just from being in the place that welcomed them, that one of them called home.

Thinking of this, he nuzzles into Geralt’s chest, feeling the witcher practically purr underneath him. Although he looks up when Eskel makes a pained sounding noise.

“Fucking hell I can’t take this anymore. Go upstairs, lock the door and have at it.” Eskel groans, and it only occurs to Jaskier then that he’s looking up at Geralt, right into those golden eyes and he coughs to himself.

“But Ciri-” His protest is weak even to his own ears and he can see Lambert laugh at that, silent into his drink.

“Is sound asleep, and my door is right across from hers. She’ll understand if the door’s locked. Go. You’re fucking lucky these ceilings are so high, the rooms basically fucking sound proofed.” Eskel waves at them.

Jaskier couldn’t argue with that. Not that he could as Geralt hauls him up with a laugh, throwing him over his shoulder, still bundled in the blankets.

“Goodnight then!” He calls, even as the other witchers groan and turn back to their drinks, already starting to good naturedly complain.

-

It’s cold in the room when they get in there, and Geralt gently puts Jaskier down to start on the fire while Jaskier locks the door. He puts the key firmly onto the chest of drawers, and solid thunk of it onto the wood rings out with a promise.

While Geralt’s back is turned, attention on the fire, he goes over to the nest. His nest. And makes sure to clear off some of the blankets he doesn’t want ruined. Because sometimes, a good wash couldn’t even clean the scent of sweat out of them at all and then he’d never be able to use them again. His nest had to be clean and smelling nicely most of the time. And that meant no sex drenched sheets.

So he busies himself with clearing a few, folding them neatly and laying them at the bottom of the nest before he starts to undress. This wouldn’t be hurried, he’d been wanting it for so long that while he wanted to just pin Geralt down and have his way, he knew that savouring it would feel even better.

He’s almost out of his layers, just down to his shirt and pants when hands come around his waist before going to lock their fingers, stilling his hands as he fumbled with the buttons.

“Yes?” He looks over his shoulder, tilting his head so that Geralt can bury his face into the crook of his neck as he comes closer, pulling Jaskier into his chest. He licks at the skin there and Jaskier shivers under the attention, feeling the flat of Geralt’s tongue quickly turn into the sharp of his teeth. “Hmm, yes.” One hand goes up to latch onto Geralt’s neck, keeping him there as he sucked what Jaskier assumed would be an impressive bruise into the skin.

“Now Geralt, I must warn you, oh-” Slowly, Geralt tightens his hold on Jaskier’s hand, pressing their bodies flush and Jaskier feels the weight of Geralt’s slowly hardening dick at the small of his back.

His own responds in kind, not that he hadn’t been half hard since locking the door, and he rolls his head again, trying to give Geralt better access as he slowly licked and kissed his way across Jaskier’s shoulder.

“If I say anything you don’t like. Or it’s too much. You must tell me, please.”

“I doubt you’ll say anything of the sort.” Slowly, oh so slowly, Geralt starts to grind against his ass. “Because it’s nothing I wouldn’t say in return.”

“If I called you mine.” Jaskier breathes, eyes closed as he shifted his hips back into the movement. “Claimed you as my own. Tied us together forever. Told you that I would ruin you for anyone else but me?”

“You already have.”

And oh if that’s not the thing to say to make Jaskier’s instincts fully take control.

He turns almost too quickly, reaching up to claim Geralt’s mouth in a searing kiss that he groans into when Geralt’s now free hands go straight to his ass.

“I’m keeping you forever,” He practically moans against Geralt’s lips, shifting so their dicks line up before he rolls his hips, smiling at Geralt’s low growl.

“Yeah? You like that huh? Like that i’m yours?” He bites harshly at Geralt’s jaw, sliding down to his neck to suck a bruise there, worrying and biting over the spot with sharp teeth that make Geralt grunt, throwing his head back as he pulled Jaskier impossibly closer, leg going in between Jaskier’s own to grind himself against Jaskier’s thigh.

“Fuck Jask.”

“Yeah, that fuckin’ name. You know how it fuckin’ melts me when you call me that?” The pressure against his own dick against the hard muscle of Geralt’s thigh is almost too much, even with just the harsh friction.

Geralt turns them and pulls them down, Jaskier falling heavily into Geralt’s lap as Geralt lies back, and Jaskier settles in for the long haul as he places his thighs either side of Geralt’s. 

“Take this off.” He tugs at Geralt’s shirt before pulling off his own, throwing it to the side before wiggling about of his pants, almost falling a few times as Geralt huffs on a laugh, steadying him by the hips, grip warm and steady as he holds on.

“I said off.” Jaskier huffs when he’s able to right himself on Geralt’s hips, now fully naked and completely hard. 

“Hmm.” Geralt smirks, but his hands go to the hem of his shirt as Jaskier starts on his pants, unlacing the ties there with dexterous fingers before pulling them down unceremoniously, letting Geralt kick out them and then they’re both naked and already panting.

Geralt is hard and leaking, and Jaskier can’t help but get a hand around him, revealing in the groan that escaped Geralt's lips as he runs his hand over it. It looks even bigger in his hand and his mouth waters as he looks at eyes, unable to look away. 

“Fuck, I knew you were big. This is gonna feel so good down my throat.” It spills out before he can stop it, but he glances up at another growl to see Geralt’s eyes practically burning and he smirks.

“Fuck, down my throat. In my ass. It feels so good even just in my hand you’re gonna drive me mad.”

“I hope so.” Geralt grabs him by the jaw, a possessive yet gentle touch that has Jaskier purring before his mouth is claimed again in a heated kiss. “Mine. My bard. My Jaskier.”

And oh how that makes his heart sing.

It’s his turn to growl, hand tightening on Geralt’s dick as his instincts rear up even as it burns under his skin. Because he was being possessed himself, loved enough to be wanted so fiercely. 

“Oh my love.” He breathes into the next kiss, moaning when he feels the hands on his hips tighten, and he desperately hopes they’ll leave bruises. “I love you I love you I love you.” 

He lets go of Geralt’s dick to grind against it, he’s sloppy in his movement, words going to his head. 

“I love you, Jask fuck-” Jaskier, still held upright safely in Geralt’s hands manages to get a hand around their dicks as he continutes to rut. He plants his free hand on Geralt’s chest, groaning when the friction becomes too much and he has to pull his hand away, spitting on it before pushing it back.

It’s not much better and he groans. “Geralt oil- there’s oil in my bag.” Geralt lays him down, awfully gently opposed to their hurried movements just seconds beforehand. And Jaskier can’t help but move his hands to trail across geralt’s back as he gets up, searching for Jaskier’s bag.

He’s delightful to look at, all hard lines contrasted to an odd softness in the gentle firelight. Jaskier could write songs just about his ass, and then he turns around and Jaskier knows he’s going to write about his dick. It’s still straining hard and red against his stomach, and Jaskier licks his lips at the sight which gets him a huff of fond laughter.

“Oh can you blame me?” He asks, making grabby hands at Geralt who takes his time walking over. He’s looking over Jaskier, eyes intense and hot and Jaskier continues to make the grabby hands.

“Hmm.” Geralt laughs again, but he falls to his knees easily, swinging one leg over Jaskier’s torso, one hand holding a vial of oil as he leans down to kiss Jaskier.

It’s hot and rushed, more teeth than anything else as Jaskier throws a leg around Geralt’s own, raking his nails down Geralt’s back as he bucks into the grasp. Throwing his head back he gasps as Geralt kisses down his neck, sucking and biting harshly in a way that has Jaskier keening, dick almost forgotten as he’s caught up in the sensation.

But then Geralt is fumbling with the oil and oh, that’s his hand on Jaskier’s dick and all his thoughts zero in on the slick sensation and grip of Geralt. He whines, hips coming up to meet Geralt’s hand on every downstroke, unable to move much else as Geralt keeps kissing him, licking and biting at his chest. He can feel the smile there at every moan and keen, mouth open and panting.

“Are you going to fuck me? Please Geralt-”

“Needy. Knew you would be. Needy and demanding.”

“So you’ve thought about this?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh no don’t you fucking grunt again.” Jaskier gasps then why Geralt’s hand leaves his dick, but then it goes to lift his leg up, throwing it over his shoulder and he grins, rubbing his head against the blankets beneath him.

“Fuck yes.”

It’s all Geralt needs to trace his oiled finger around Jaskier’s rim and Jaskier feels himself relax into it automatically. He hadn’t seen any action other than his own hand in a good while at this point, too preoccupied with looking after Ciri and Geralt and caught up in his own pining.

“C’mon, Geralt please. My own-” Geralt inserts the first finger without much hesitation then, and Jaskier pants at the slow slide as Geralt gets him used to the feeling.

“My own.” Geralt purrs. “I like that.”

“The you’re the first oh-” He’s surprised by the second finger entering with the first, but it’s only up to the first knuckle as Geralt waits. And when Jaskier looks up into those golden eyes he can’t help but melt under the tender gaze that graces them.

“And I will be the last. The only.” That goes straight to his dick, and keeping eye contact he shoves himself down, earning a surprised gasp from Geralt as he moans himself, the feeling of being just that little bit fuller making his toes curl.

“My own. Hurry up please. Need your dick in me. Need you closer.”

“Needy needy.” Geralt chides, but he sinks his fingers in deeper and twists them, scissoring them open as Jaskier pushes himself down onto them. The sting is welcome, another sensation added to the swirl of emotions he’s feeling. 

He whines and writhes, hands anchoring themselves onto Geralt’s shoulder, nails digging in.

“More, please.” He gasps, and then moans when Geralt indulges him with another finger. This takes a little longer to get used to, but he’s still rolling his hips down in a messy grind, biting at his bicep now to try and keep his louder moans between the pair.

“Oh my own.” Geralt sounds stilted when he says it, hand stilling and Jaskier opens his eyes, unsure of when he closed them, smiling up at Geralt’s unsure expression. It doesn’t seem like it’s hard for him to say, but he can tell Geralt finds it awkward in his mouth.

“My love, my own. That’s it. Mine. Like i’m yours.”

“Yours.” Geralt mimics, smiling so softly that Jaskier really has no choice to place a kiss on his jaw, and then his mouth.

“I adore you.” He whispers into Geralt’s cheek, kissing it and mouthing down to the stubble at his jaw. “Fuck, pleas3 fuck me please-"

“Okay okay.”

Jaskier whimpers when Geralt removes his fingers, hand grasping uselessly at Geralt’s shoulders, the blankets, anything he can reach as he looks down between their bodies. He whimpers uselessly again. Geralt is pouring the oil onto his dick, all business as he hurries and he gasps as he rubs it over, bucking into his hand as if he can’t help himself before he pulls off, swinging Jaskier’s other leg over his shoulder.

“Fuck!” He whines, wiggling his ass a little. “Fuck, please.”

“Alright, calm down.” Geralt manages to chuckle, fingers going to Jaskier’s hole again. He’s about to protest because he was fucking ready, but then there’s the blunt head of Geralt’s dick and he’s moaning, letting go of Geralt to claw at his own hair and face, one hand going to a nipple to tug, just to have something else to focus on as Geralt slowly starts to push in.

It feels as though he’s being split in half in the best way, and he can;thelp his smug smile when Geralt growls.

“Fuck you’re tight.” 

“Only for you.” It’s a rough movement then and Jaskier shouts as Geralt slams the last few inches into him, and as he cries out Geralt seems to slip down, mouth meeting Jaskier’s in a hungry kiss as his arms go to the blankets, hand planted firmly either side of his head.

“Mine, mine, mine.” He chants as Geralt starts to move. There’s no build up, neither seem to be able to deal with that, and instantly it’s rough thrusts as they both cry out.

“My bard. My Jask. Mine, mine, mine.” Geralt is chanting with him with every thrust, breath coming out harsh and stuttered as his movements get frantic. Years of subconscious pining apparently building up as his arms move in a flurry, going to hold Jaskier as close to him as he can, buying his face into Jaskier’s neck, biting and licking in between comments as Jaskier gasps back.

He can only hold on, between the friction and pressure of his cock pushing into Geralt’s abs as they rock together and the unrelenting thrusts of Geralt he feels like he’s coming apart at the seams.

“Darling please.” He cries out. “My own, please.”

It’s the ‘My Own’ that does it, he thinks. As Geralt growls and comes, grip getting tight enough to feel like it’s bruising, and the feeling of him coming inside him, claiming him, tips Jaskier over the edge as well.

They lie there panting for a while, and Jaskier vaguely registers Geralt slip out of him, head with it enough to murmur a “don’t use those blankets” when he sees Geralt reaching for them to clean them up.

“Hmm.” He hums when Geralt starts to clean him with his own shirt instead of the blankets, stretching out and giggling when he feels Geralt’s tongue clean some of the last drops away. In return he reaches out a hand, dipping one of his fingers into the mess that had transferred to his inner thighs and brings it up to his mouth, licking at it delicately as he hears Geralt moan again. “Glad that doesn’t freak you out.”

“Hmm. Why would it?” He grunts, finishing cleaning Jaskier before cleaning himself, throwing his shirt towards the door before settling back into the nest. He pulls one of the clean blankets over them before settling Jaskier properly in his arms and Jaskier curls up on his chest.

“My own. My witcher.” He mumbles into Geralt’s chest, settling in closer when he hears Gerat’s chest rumble.

“My bard. My own.” The dragon instincts seems to be satiated for the first time in a while, and he very much is himself.

They both fall asleep, wrapped in one another and happy.

-

They go down that morning and are greeted by whistles and cheers from Eskel and Lambert. And all Geralt does is flip the bird at them while Jaskier hums, ignoring it to sit next to Ciri. The catcalling he could easily handle, what he has to look away from is Geralt’s self satisfied smirk when he sits down.

“If you guys do that where I can hear you’re going to regret training me.” Ciri warns, pointing her fork at the pair of them in turn which gets Jaskier laughing, loud and happy as he takes the plate loaded with breakfast that’s handed to him from Geralt.

“I’ll bear that in mind sweet pea.”

Eskel reaches over the table to gently slap her on the back with a laugh.

“You do that to ‘em Ciri.” Lambert chuckles. “Fucker’s would deserve it.”

Jaskier would say something but really, he wasn’t one to talk about his sexual exploits around children. Never mind Ciri. So he keeps his mouth shut and digs into his breakfast. He aims a kick at both Eskel and Lambert though, and he hits the mark both times much to his satisfaction as they wince and scowl at him.

“Children.” Vesemir chides, sounding tired and Jaskier guesses that he probably didn’t want to smell Jaskier or Geralt this morning. But then again, it’s really his own fault for encouraging them.

“I was going to ride today given that it’s stopped snowing. If anybody wants to join,” Vesemir picks up the conversation that Jaskier and Geralt halted before.

“It’s still snowy though-” Jaskier hesitates. Just because it wasn’t snowing didn’t mean that the snow wasn’t laid on the ground up to their knees.

“The horses are getting restless. And I meant more to lead them than anything else.

“Oh.”

“It could be a lesson in being away from your bonded.” 

Jaskier nods slowly. Because it had been a month since they had bonded, maybe a little more. So the immediate pain of being away from the pair will have faded by now. But that didn’t mean the anxiety he felt when they left the room had lessened. 

“That’s a good idea.”

“I’m taking Buttercup!” Ciri says immediately and Jaskier gasps.

“Who said I was staying here and not you two?”

“Me. As if I’de let anyone of these bastards touch Roach.” Geralt ignores the offended huff from the other witchers.

“Do you really trust me alone in this place?” Jaskier stutters. “I could get up to so many things-” 

“I was going to stay anyway given that I don’t have a horse.” Eskel shrugs. “It’ll be fine.”

And that’s the last of his arguments out the window really.

It’s his turn to huff, but he nods. “Fine. Just tell Buttercup that it’s not personal that I didn’t personally bring her out and that I still love her dearly.”

“Always so dramatic.” Geralt huffs, and Jaskier kicks him under the table too for good measure.

-

As soon as the four leave the walls of Kaer Morhen, Jaskier feels it. It’s a sharp tug behind his breastbone, signalling that they’ve gone too far. He’s curled up opposite Eskel in one of the chairs. Neither wanting to train now that they had some quiet.

“Ow.” He groans pitifully, rubbing at his chest. “They’ve definitely left.”

“Can you tell how far?” Eskel was an avid reader, and probably wanted to use the peace and quiet to read, but he puts his book down anyway. “I can hear them up to a point.”

“No. I just know it’s too far.” He felt like a petulant child. Another reason why he hated being a dragon. As much as he loved the bond, the process, the feeling of belonging. It turned him into a whiny annoying mess. “Sorry. I know this is annoying.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Eskel hums. “Dragons and witchers share a lot of similarities. So this isn’t something I haven’t heard before.”

“What, a lot of pining?” He chuckles, a little humourlessly.

“You be one of however many teenage boys with heightened senses and everything during puberty.” Eskel quirks an eyebrow as Jaskier looks over. “In amongst everything else too.”

“I, yeah okay.”

“Also we both know Geralt. And that man can fucking pine.”

Jaskier laughs at that. “That reminds me, did you guys plan anything? With me and Geralt I mean. Because Ciri spoke to me and I know Lambert spoke to Geralt so?”

Eskel snorts. “‘Course we did. It was the only way Geralt would get his head out of his ass.”

“So I need details then, if you please.” How could Jaskier resist this story?

“I’m getting the mulled cider then. You’re not the only one who can put on a show here.” 

“I’m gonna assume you’re lying until you prove it.” Jaskier laughs, but he puts his notebook down from where he had been writing and gets comfortable once again. The best thing about winter was being able to wrap yourself in as many blankets as you could.

Eskel returns with two large tankards of the cider, and Jaskier warms his hands on it as his is passed over before Eskel settles in.

“Alright, it all started two years ago.” He’s dramatic in a way that has Jaskier laughing already. “When Geralt and Ciri came here for the winter.”

They both settle in for the long haul.

“Neither were happy. Although of course for Ciri it was due to the ordeal of her current loss and trauma. However, we only found out why Geralt was sad when we got him plastered one night. He was rambling, almost crying into his drink, which let me tell you is a sight to behold. All sad about how he’d hurt you and you still hadn’t forgiven him. And how awful it was that you had chosen to stay and work instead of coming with them. How he knew he’d fucked up and didn’t know how to mend it all properly.”

“Oh.”

“So obviously, me and Lambert devised a plan with Ciri. Because the fucker was still oblivious that he was in love with you, and we found this out after asking Ciri because Geralt is a bastard and wouldn’t know feelings if they hit him repeatedly over the head with a hammer.”

“Very true.”

“She also said you were awfully sad, and also pining.”

“Also, sadly, true.”

“So we send Ciri to do some digging while you’re all travelling together. Getting information, that sort of thing. And then two years pass. You all turn up, and apparently he still hasn’t figured his shit out so we plan again. Because it’s obvious how much he cares for you. It’s fucking disgusting in the best way. So we talk to Ciri again. And it turns out that maybe something happened because suddenly he’s being over protective and a lot more affectionate. But neither of you are together, and despite all this you’re still looking at him like a kicked mutt.”

“Hey!”

“You were. So we get Ciri to talk to you. And we talk to Geralt. And it turns out, oh he’s actually realised his feelings. But now he’s sad because he doesn’t know if you’ll ever love him back. But apparently we didn’t need to do much else, because he overheard you talking to Ciri and managed to take matters into his own hands.”

“Which we never thought he’d do.”

“Oh no, it’s not a surprise.” That shocks Jaskier.

“Is it not?”

“No. When Geralt feels things, or well. When witcher’s feel things. It’s always deeply and intensely. And if he had confirmation that you felt the same, well he’s not going to make you sad by keeping things to himself.”

“Oh.”

“Witchers and dragons are a lot alike, like I said. We’re both inherently tied to magic and chaos. Due to the mutagens our feelings are always a lot stronger, and yours are because of your nature. We’re hardier, last longer. More resilient.” He shrugs. “It’s why you and Geralt make a good pair.”

“The witcher and the dragon sounds like a good ballad.” Jaskier can’t really say anything else.

“Well it’s up to you to write it. You’ve both got forever.”

And isn’t that a thought? “Is this where you do the family thing of giving me the shovel talk?”

“Nah. Geralt can look after himself.” Eskel leans forward and toasts their mugs together. 

“I’m not going to hurt him anyway. Or i’m gonna try not to.”

“See that you don’t.”

“It’s good you know, that he has more than just me and Ciri. It’s good he has this place.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm.” Jaskier nods, taking a pull of his drink. “He’s a lot calmer here, more open. More willing to speak because he’s not looking over his shoulder constantly. It’s good for him.”

“Yeah, we’re all like that. Being on guard all the time sorta turns you into a different person.” Eskel shrugs.

“It’s a good thing you all have here to come back to then.” They drink to that again. And Eskel doesn’t seem to want to say more so Jaskier tries for a topic change.

“So.” His sure tone get’s Eskels attention. “Have you ever thought of becoming a bard in your spare time? Because really, that storytelling was excellent.”

Eskel booms out into laughter then, both ending up cackling.

-

By the time the other four get back, Jaskier had managed to force the lute into Eskels hands and is in the middle of teaching him the basic chords. He was actually getting pretty good.

“Well this is a sight to see.” Lambert growls when they all get in.

“Oi shut up i’m good at this!” Eskel yells back, but he’s stopped and has managed to catch Geralt’s eye. “Plus it worked in distracting him so.”

“Another scheme!” Jaskier yells, hand going to his chest and he stops. The pain he had felt there hadn’t bothered him since Eskel had started talking, and he had completely forgotten about it by the time he had started teaching him.  
  
“You’re all beasts! The lot of you!” He shoves at Eskel, managing to dislodge him a little from where they were sitting opposite one another in front of the fire. “But thank you all the same.”

Eskel rights himself, beaming. “Now are you gonna help me learn some more or not?”

Jaskier does.

While he does though, he starts to think more about shifting. Because they all really had gotten a lot closer, and if Eskel was willing to distract him for no other reason than so he wouldn’t be in pain. Well, the caring must be a lot more mutual than he thought.

-

Lambert surprises him the next week by throwing a heavy cloak and even heavier boots at him.

“Come on. It’s your turn to hunt bard.”

“Oh?” Jaskier had been under the impression he and Ciri wouldn’t have to hunt. Given that he hadn’t been put into the routine of hunting.

“Don’t ‘oh’ me. C’mon. You and me. Hurry up.” He casts a few questioning glances at Geralt who just shrugs before going back to helping Ciri and Jaskier huffs but gets dressed all the same.

It’s cold as fuck when they go go outside, and even colder when they get past the gates.

It hurts once again to leave Geralt and Ciri. But he does so without complaint this time.

“So what made you bring me out?” He asks, fiddling with the bow he’d been given. Not his weapon of choice, especially not recently. But he wasn’t too bad with them. You couldn’t spend decades with a witcher and not learn anything.

“You annoy me when I cook. You may as well annoy me when I hunt.” And that was true, Jaskier had taken to helping Lambert cook given that it was the only time he could annoy him without the other man being able to just walk off. Plus, they had similar culinary tastes.

“I provide an excellent source of company thank you.” He sniffs, checking the dagger in his boot when Lambert stops to check some tracks. “But really.”

Lambert grunts.

“Ah. I know how to speak grunt. You can’t worm your way out of this conversation.”

“Urg.”

“Personally, I would like to think it’s because you enjoy my wonderful company but I doubt that this time.” He lowers his voice to a whisper as they follow the tracks. And from what he can see it’s another deer.

“Look.” Lambert hisses. “If you repeat this to anyone else i’ll gut you. But.” He crouches, hand going out to stop Jaskier who crouches down too, eyes adjusting through the trees to spot the pair of deer. He’d think by now they’d stay away from Kaer Morhen. But he guessed that a few getting killed off every winter didn’t make up for the fact that the rest of the year it was a safe space to live.

He’s barely thinking about it as he knocks one of his arrows, smirking over at Lambert as he does the same, and they let their arrows fly at the same time.

Both marks hit true. And then they’re running, Lambert howling loud as they run through the trees after their prey. He didn’t normally hunt like this, play with his food. But there’s something thrilling in the chase. His instincts practically spring out, something deep within his bones and gut roaring to life as he speeds through the trees, following the tail of the doe as he dodges and practically flies through the branches and underbrush.

Lambert tackles his own deer as Jaskier takes his down with another shot. It misses it’s true mark, because he can’t aim that well while running, but he manages to hit them all the same and they go down.

“But?” Jaskier asks, out of breath as he collapses onto the floor next to their prey. A feral grin spreading across his face.

“Well. I wanted to see the dragon in you. And I think i’ve just seen it.”

“Motherfucker!” He shakes his head and Lambert laughs, looming over them and not out of breath, the bastard. He gets up, bow slung onto his back as he slaps harshly at Lamberts shoulder. “Come on. Let’s head back with these. They should last a couple days.”

“Hopefully. But Eskel eats a fuck tonne-”

“So do you! Me and Ciri are the only ones who don’t eat thirds. Or fourths. You sometimes eat fifths!” Jaskier calls him out, getting a light shove in return as Lambert picks both deer up, slinging one onto each shoulder.

“Hey-”

“Geralt will kill me if you do your back in.”

“Pfft. As if holding a deer could.” He’s surprised then, when one of the deer is unceremoniously dropped over his shoulders and he has to take a few seconds to readjust to the weight. It’s heavy as fuck, and carrying it make it harder to walk. But he wouldn’t say anything. Being a dragon gave him a bit more strength while in his human form anyway.

“I can hear you struggling.” Lambert calls smugly over his shoulder when Jaskier starts walking again and he huffs, giving him the finger.

“Fuck off.”

“Knew you had some substance about you. Now c’mon we gotta get back.”

They spend the walk back bickering, although it’s nothing vicious. And honestly, it’s pretty enjoyable. Jaskier enjoys the sniping, especially when there’s no meaning behind it. 

“Oh fuck off. The best way to seduce someone is through charm and gentle affection! Not being-” Jaskier waves a hand to Lamberts everything. “Rough and rude.”

“Hey, it worked for Geralt.” Lambert smirks, and Jaskier shoves at him again. 

“Bastard. I meant to the general masses. I’m an odd case.”

“It’s always worked for me.” Lambert leers and Jaskier rolls his eyes.

“Some people out there don’t have taste that’s not their fault-”

“Can you two shut up! I can hear you half way down the fuckin’ mountain!” Vesemir shouts through from the main room as they enter the kitchen through the back door. They’d put the deer in the icebox just outside of the stable, and Jaskier was going to clean the blood off of himself before going back out to tend to Buttercup. A few circles around the courtyard would be boring, but it would be enough for her to stretch her legs.

“Yeah yeah!” Lambert just shouts back, and they rejoin the rest of the group to large smiles from Ciri and Eskel, with Geralt providing a smaller one. “Your boy’s fuckin’ feral!” Lambert when his eyes land on Geralt.

“OI!” Jaskier protests at that. “I wasn’t the one howling!”

“Oh we heard that.” Eskel snorts. “Ignore him. If anyone's feral here it’s him.”

Lambert just shrugs. “Kept me alive this long. You can hunt with me again though Jaskier. You did well.”

Jaskier finds that he’ll take him up on it.

-

Vesemir is the last to get to him in what he now realises is a ‘make Jaskier comfortable’ ploy. One that’s actually working pretty well. He’s in the kitchen boiling some water for tea when Vesemir comes up to him.

“Did you ever get that tour of Kaer Morhen?”

“No I did not.” They had all been confined within the two floors. The rest of the ruins blocked off completely.

He hadn’t even been into the library he knew was on the second floor next to Vesemir’s room. But that was out of politeness given he understood that the room was basically Vesemir’s study. 

“Go and get your cloak and boots then, this will be cold.”

Vesemir takes him up to the second floor, pulling back the large tapestry at the end of the corridor to reveal a large wooden double door that he produces a key for, and opens with a loud shriek.

“Watch your step.” Vesemir warns, before they go out into the cold.

The corridor they continue into is freezing, even though it’s covered and dark. With a quick cast of _igni_ Vesemir lights a torch, and they head into the depths of the ruins.

“We don’t use the rest of the castle anymore. Due to the battle destroying part of it beyond repair. But mostly because it holds too many memories that nobody wants to relive.” 

Jaskier stays quiet as Vesemir leads him to some stairs, going down to an open hall, wind whipping them both as they continue on, and down another flight of stairs when they cross the once grand hall.

“I doubt anybody would want to come back if they had to be subjected to memories from this place.” Vesemir shakes his head, leading them down another thinner stairwell that leads them to a much darker and colder corridor. Jaskier can’t help but gasp as they peer into the first room and see shackles on the walls and blood stains on the floor. He connects the dots himself

“Which is why we stay in that small portion of the first and second floor.”

“And those don’t bring back memories?” They quickly turn on their heels and head back up the stairs before heading back into the hall.

“I’m sure it does. It does for me. But not as much as if the whole place were whole again. I’m glad it’s not.”

“Then why show me this? If it makes you feel like shit?” Jaskier asks as they head to the other side of the hall, finding another staircase that winds. And really, was this place all stairs?

“Because you have bonded with Geralt. And he trusts you implicitly. So it makes sense to show you some of the history he holds.”

“A show of trust.” Jaskier tilts his head and Vesemir nods before they have to stop given that the stairs fall away into nothing, and Jaskier loses his breath.

The view from here is beautiful. Even with the wind biting at his face. It’s midday, and the sun is high in the sky, lighting everything on the side of the mountain, illuminating the stretches and stretches of wood that are humming with light, snow glinting on the horizon.

But then he looks down at the rubble of the long forgotten ruins and feels a pain in his chest.

“It’s beautiful. Horrible but beautiful.” He breathes and Vesemir nods.

“Let’s go back. Thank you, for coming with me.”

“Anything to understand you all more.”

“Not just Geralt?” Vesemir raises an eyebrow and Jaskier rolls his eyes.

“Your not subtle plan to make me feel welcome worked. So you are all included in, well. My now protectiveness.”

“We don’t need protecting.”

“No, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling it.” Jaskier laughs. “You’re part of that too now Vesemir. None of you are getting away from my affections.”

“And we wouldn’t want to, I don’t think. You’re a good man. And one of the better dragons i’ve met. Most tend to be.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Cryptic, and most up their own arses. You’re not like that. Well, the second one a little.”

Jaskier flicks him on the arm for that. “It’s because i’ve trained myself not to be.”

“And you do it well.” They head back into the lit corridor, and Vesemir puts the torch out, throwing the wood away. They both put the tapestry back when Vesemir has re-locked the door.

“Thank you, for showing me.” Jaskier says, catching Vesemir’s arm before they both head back downstairs.

“You’re one of us now kid.” And then Vesemir is stomping down the stairs, shouting for Ciri. And Jaskier feels his heart swell.

-

The combined efforts of the inclusion from the other witchers, the soft affection and reassurance from Geralt, and the trying-to-be-subtle nagging from Ciri, are what eventually gets him to make a decision about shifting.

It’s cold out. But they’re only a month and a bit away from winter ending, and if he didn’t do it now then he probably wouldn’t get another chance to until they presumably came back next year. Or he hoped they would be back the next year anyway.

“Seriously. It’s not a big ordeal shifting. I don’t know what you’re all expecting?” He stutters as they gather in the courtyard outside. He’s only in one layer, given that shifting required him to undress unless he wanted to ruin his clothes.

There’s no fire, because he needed the entire courtyard to shift. Not that it wasn’t huge, but he wanted to be able to walk around for a bit at least. And having a fire in the middle would prevent that significantly. So, everyone else is bundled up.

He had decided that morning. He had woken up before the sun had risen, Ciri in his arms with Geralt at his back, arms cradling them both, and the sense of home and contentment he had been feeling washed over him again. It had been like a tidal wave, coming over him at every tiny thing, a hand from Geralt on his arm or a smile from Ciri. When Eskel had asked for another lute lesson or when Lambert had asked him on another hunt. An approving nod from Vesemir when he got a term right.

It was lovely. And that morning, as he lay in Geralt’s arms holding Ciri and slowly watched the sun rise through the window, he had decided to shift.

Which is how they ended up out here, shivering and expectant.

“Okay okay.” He whispers to himself, wrapping a blanket around himself to change under given that he wouldn’t want to be fully uncovered in these temperatures. It was also a way to stall though. Because while the decision had seemed simple that morning and he actually felt comfortable around these people, doubt still lingered in the back of his mind.

“You can do this.” He continues to whisper and then jumps as he feels large hands on his shoulders. He turns, seeing Geralt looking down at him, a small smile on his face.

“You don’t have do this if you don’t want to-”

“No I want to.” He does. It’s just terrifying. “It’s just, it’s been years at this point and, and-”

“And?”

“I’m fucking scared.” 

Geralt just wraps strong arms around him and Jaskier melts into it, burying his face into Geralt’s neck.

“Want me to hold you while you change?”

“You’d get hurt-”

“You’d never hurt me Jask, you said it yourself.” Jaskier feels a kiss on the top of his head. “Now c’mon. You have this.”

Jaskier laughs at that, the surety of Geralt’s voice.

“Okay. Okay.” He burrows further into Geralt’s chest for a second more before pulling back slightly.

Eyes closed, he wraps his arms tighter around himself, almost going into a crouch as he focuses intently on feeling those instincts. He finds them quickly, resting in his gut and he pulls them up up up, and with a flash that feels like fire across his skin he’s shifting.

It doesn’t hurt like people expect. As his limbs elongate and twist, claws sprouting from his nails as his body morphs and he changes completely, scales shining red beneath and then in place of his usual pale skin and then he lands with a crash on the floor. His balance completely off as he gets used to having wings again. His wings!

He doesn’t think about it as he pushes up, wings spreading as he dives further and further up before catching the wind, and gliding. Flying, he thought, was one of the best experiences in the world. He never felt freer or more alive than when he was above the winds, chasing through the clouds as he soared above the rest of the world. It’s breathtaking and exhilarating as he climbs and dives and swoops, everything flooding back to him. Flying was as easy as breathing.

Everything is sharper when he was in his dragon form, and he swoops around the ruins of Kaer Morhen he spots things he wouldn’t as a human. Everything was dazzling in the mid-day sun, and when he turns from his arial exploration he turns to the horizon that beckons him like a siren's call.

But he doesn’t go to it, stronger than he had once been, and flies down back to the courtyard. Tying to be as careful as he can when he lands although he still skids across the stone, wobbling on his feet once again.

Laughter and clapping get his attention and he turns towards the group that are still in the courtyard, watching him and cheering.

“JASKIER!” Ciri calls, and is the first to rush up to him, arms going around his neck as best they can as she jumps at him. “You’re beautiful!”

“Thank you.” Words are harder as a dragon. He put it down to age that let Borch speak so fluidly once shifted. He turns and nuzzles her side gently with his snout which gets her laughing, and he helps her up with his head under her legs when she climbs up onto his back to inspect his wings.

He’s not as big as older dragons, he only fills about a forth of the courtyard and his back is only about three heads above where Geralt’s would be. But he more than expects that his colouring makes up for it. He had been blessed, out of his family. His deep garnet scales caught the light at every angle while some of theirs had been dull no matter what. And they rattle as he shakes a leg out, much to the amusement of the witchers watching him.

Geralt was sat on the floor, and Jaskier cringes as it must be because Jaskier pushes him over as he had pounced upwards towards flight. But he couldn’t smell blood on the man, and nobody smelt scared or frightened, and to his great relief none of them smell angry. Instead, they all smell happy, and Geralt particularly smells content. There’s something else though that has a sweeter note to it that he recognises as love once he takes a few minutes.

Taking a second to huff at Ciri in a way he hopes she gets to mean as ‘hold on’ he stands, smiling inwardly as Ciri yelps and grabs onto his wings for support as he takes the few steps toward Geralt, sitting heavily back down on the floor again next to him before plopping his head into the witchers lap.

Having both his bonded there, content and surrounding him, forces a hum of peace over him and as it reverates through his chest he hears Ciri laugh as Geralt slowly reaches out to run tentative fingers over the ridge atop his head.

“You really are a cat!” She calls, and he can feel her hands slowly pet over his wings, and at her insistent hands he unfurls one of them, letting her look it over properly.

“Absolute beast!” Lambert calls, and Jaskier knows he’s playing by his tone, even if he hadn’t smelt the joy that was pouring off of the man. In response he blows a smoke ring at him, the warmth tingling his nose in a way he had oddly missed and Eskel laughs at the sight.

“Wait can you blow bigger ones?” He walks closer and Jaskier leans his shoulder into his outstretched hand even as he settles his head back on Geralt’s lap who continues his petting. He nods, and Eskel’s face lights up

“If you blow ‘em we could try jumping through them. Make it into a skill thing-”

It’s something that has Jaskier raising his head again, nodding eagerly. He hadn’t come up with a way his breath could be used for anything truly good beside lighting fires. Everything else it was good for was destruction and death. And here was a witcher proclaiming it to be good enough to use as a game.

He raises his head once again to nudge Ciri, letting her grab hold of him tightly to help her down before he stands. His bones still felt like they were sliding into place and settling as everything creaks, but there was no pain, and the pain he had been feeling for so many years had completely vanished.

The anxiety had worn off too, because how could it not now that he was in dragon form and still being received well. And the flying had further settled his emotions. He always felt better after flying.

So he rises and sits in the middle of the courtyard, blowing a few smoke rings to demonstrate how big he could get them without them dissipating quickly and Ciri cheers at every one. 

“Okay you bastards. And Ciri.” Vesmir starts, and suddenly it’s on. “The goal is to get through each smoke ring without touching it as they get smaller and smaller. The person who gets through the smallest one wins.”

“Wins what?” Lambert asks as Jaskier readies himself.

“Fucking bragging rights I don’t know Lambert you’re not children. Fuck it, you’re up first. Jaskier, if you please.”

Jaskier hunkers down, finally settling properly into his bones as he sits, crossing his claws indulgently, feeling the way they clack against the stone before pulling his head forward, blowing his first of many smoke rings.

The biggest is almost big enough for Lambert to walk through but he does a jump and roll instead which gets a round of jeering and a- “Fuck off!” From Eskel. The next one is a bit smaller. And Jaskier is delighted to find out that he still had enough muscle memory to be able to do so with such distinction. 

It takes three tries until Lambert’s foot catches on one of the rings, making the ring wobble and then fade out as he cursed, staying on the floor to sulk for a second before getting up and letting Eskel take a turn.

Where Lambert had made four rings, Eskel makes five. He shouts loudly, whooping and throwing his arms up in victory before he’s tackled by Lambert, and Geralt takes his turn to them wrestling and squabbling. He only manages three. To be fair though, Jaskier thinks he throws it if his wink his way when he sticks a foot through the smoke is any indication, although he doesn’t think anyone else catches it.

He’s not confused as to why though when Ciri takes her turn next. Although he snorts reproachfully at Geralt then, accidentally blowing smoke in his face although he sort of deserves it for underestimating the child. Geralt just pushes at his shoulder though with a roll of his eyes as he bats the smoke away before turning to where Ciri was waiting.

She manages seven rings, half the size of the witchers and a lot more agile given her thin stature. She smirks at all them when she’s finished, and Jaskier drums his claws onto the stone in an applause which she beams at. When she’s finished she shoves at Geralt.

“Try again, and properly this time!” Ah, so it hadn’t escaped her either.

Geralt huffs, patting Jaskier’s neck before going to where Ciri was, ruffling her hair much to her annoyance before standing, ready. “Go!” 

He makes it to five rings like Eskel. Even with actually trying, which makes Ciri fall about laughing. In response Geralt swoops in to pick her up, jostling her around before placing her back on Jaskier’s back which he appreciates, further appreciating the petting on his neck that Ciri starts up.

“You not gonna have a go old man?” Geralt calls, leaning heavily into Jaskier’s shoulder again which Jaskier rumbles at with happiness.

“Fuck you, I am.” Vesemir grouses back, but he does gesture to Jaskier to start.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly given he had the most training out of all of them, he makes it to six rings which has both Eskel and Lambert tackling him and shouting with what Jaskier smells as glee.

“You still okay?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier nods. Everything seemed simpler when he was in his dragon form, instincts fully taken over and happy as he rested. 

With all the smoke though, he can feel the need to just breathe filling his lungs, so he makes a shooing head motion to Geralt before turning around. The decision to do so was made simply, he wanted to so he did. So, with his back to the group and Ciri safely on his back and out of harm's way, he lets out a breath of fire against the outside wall of the courtyard.

The bricks blacken slightly as they’re scorched, but they’re undamaged apart from that. And with the build up in his lungs satiated, he turns back around to sit again, licking behind his teeth to feel the remnants of the heat on his tongue. It takes him a second to register the shocked silence from the group and he drops his head, looking at their faces, sniffing harshly to try and smell any fear.

He doesn’t detect any, which doesn’t make sense with their silent response and he thinks for a brief second that his scenting isn’t as good as it used to be, because of course they must be scared but then they’re shouting again, coming around to crowd him and pat him, hugging him as they cheer and babble. 

And ah. Family.

“Oh shit!” Eskel laughs. “Fuck, can you burn things mid air?” 

And then it’s another game. Throwing things in the air for him to light on fire before they hit the ground. Seeing what caught and what didn’t. They all keep rushing into the keep, coming out with more things that delight him as he settles once again, almost as if he’s waiting to pounce as they throw things. He’s pretty sure his tail starts swishing.

They find out that chairs burn quickly, if not evenly. And they produce a lot of sparks when smashed onto the floor in a fiery ball. Curtains however, burnt slowly and sluggishly and just sort of flopped onto the stone. 

Eventually, Lambert gets an idea of some sort, rushing off towards the weapon shed before coming out with a sword. For a split second, fear flashes through Jaskier’s gut. Because maybe this was it, and he should have trusted his instincts and- And then he listens to what Lambert is saying.

“- Might not work, but imagine having a sword forged by dragon fire!”

Jaskier just nods, fear easing as he realises what Lambert is doing. There are flaws to this plan given that the sword is old and already obviously forged. But maybe for next winter, if they could find enough materials. They could make themselves some dragon forged daggers or something.

“Floor.” He manages to get out from behind his fangs and Lambert nods, putting the sword on the floor and standing back before Jaskier breathes onto it, waiting until it gets red hot under his flames before stopping.

He feels honoured that Lambert would even want something like that. Never mind suggest it. And they both watch the sword for a few seconds before Lambert smiles up at him.

“Next time, we’ll actually forge them.”

All Jaskier does is gently head butt him in the arm in agreement, taking the gentle shove for the show of affection it is.

Basking in the affection and attention he makes a sound that would be a laugh if he were in his human form and gently nudges everyone away, shaking Ciri gently until she gets off of his back before he’s up again, springing from the floor to soar.

Because he had a family. He had bonded. And he roars with it, loud and unabashed because he was incredibly happy. How could he not get this out by flying, swooping low to the courtyard before pulling up again, wind under his wings supporting him as he gleamed under the sun.

He’s not sure how long he’s been when he eventually lands, it couldn’t be more than an hour or two at most. But he hadn’t flown for at least half a decade at that point and needed to stretch his wings before shifting back once again.

When he returns there’s nobody in the courtyard but he doesn’t mind. The flight must have been on the longer side of things. Stretching out and popping his bones, he flourishes his wings one last time and breathes a shot of fire for good measure before sniffing around to locate the blanket he had used before.

Once obtained, he shifts back, tired from the entire day. As his bones pop back into place, scales retreating along with his claws, red glow turning into his pale skin again he reaches out blindly for the blanket. And when his eyes clear, he finds that Geralt is holding it, and then suddenly wrapping it around him, pulling him close and tight.

“Proud of you.” He grunts into the small exposed part of Jaskier’s hair and Jaskier pushes further into his arms.

“Thank you, for everything.” He wants to cry, to scream with joy and sob with the relief that comes with shifting. But he does none of that. Instead, he takes the clothes Geralt hands to him and changes before letting the witcher lead him inside.

“JASKIER YOU WERE GORGEOUS!” Ciri runs at him and he picks her up to spin her around once she reaches him.

“Thank you sweet pea, I forgot how shiny I was.”

“You were so shiny.” She nods earnestly and he laughs and pulls her close again.

The dragon senses were still at the forefront of his mind, and it would take a few hours before he could push them down and back again. And they make him cling to her a little longer, a little tighter, although she doesn’t seem to mind.

When he lets her get back to playing cards with Vesemir and Eskel, he drags Geralt to the rug by the fire, pushing him down to curl up by his side on the blankets.

It gets a whistle from Lambert and Vesemir but he just shoves his middle finger up at them, poking Geralt in the side as he catches his eye roll.

“Shut up.” He whines, but then sort of ruins it by snuggling as close as he can to Geralt’s side as Geralt holds them both up.

Eskel makes them a roast come dinner time, and Jaskier drags himself up from where he had been dozing against Geralt, leading them both to sit heavily at the table.

“How’d it feel?” Vesemir asks him once they’re all sat down and tucking in and Jaskier looks over. And ofcourse he knows what he means.

“I feel more like myself than I have in a long time. If we ever come up with a way to make it safe I should take you all flying it’s incredible.”

“And not- until then.” Geralt stops Ciri in her tracks, already sounding excited she deflates, but nods.

“Yeah okay.”

“One day sweet pea.”

“You’ve got time to figure it out anyway.” Lambert gestures with his fork. “More time to come up with ideas.”

“That’s true.” Ciri muses. “Maybe there’s something in the library about inventions.”

“We can only look.” Vesemir shrugs. “There’s stuff in there that hasn’t ever been read so we can take a break in our studies if you want to spend a while looking.”

“I’de love that.”

“I’ll help.” Lambert offers. “I’m pretty good at blacksmithing and the like so I might be able to offer ideas.” Which explains him wanting to forge the swords. Jaskier notes.

“Yes!” Ciri beams and shoots him a thumbs up. “And we can have people with potions on hand just in case of injury-”

“Ciri, this can’t happen soon. I barely had my wings under control as it was.” Jaskier tells her. “Plus, maybe we should be thinking about the invention first yes?”

“Well of course!” She looks a little disappointed but then launches into her ideas. “I’m thinking it has to be a more complicated saddle.”

The rest of the evening is spent around the table, debating various methods they come up with off the top of their heads with Geralt interjecting a firm ‘no’ to all of the dangerous ones. Which happen to be most of them. Not that it stops them planning at all.

They retire late into the evening, scratches of plans having been drawn up by Ciri. Nothing set in stone, but the starting of something that had them all babbling eagerly until Ciri had fallen asleep at the table.

He had carried her to bed, barely managing to carry on past his room to hers. The instincts were still strong under skin, making him want to keep her close. But she was a teenager at the end of the day. And although she slept with them after a nightmare or if the cold was too bad, that was different to just because he wanted his family all together in the same room. Even if she was fine with the bonding, he wasn’t going to do things without her explicit consent. Consent for things was not just for relationships thank you very much, it was important within families and friendships too.

He’d realised that after his own family disrespected his.

“Are you okay?” Geralt asks when they’re settled back in his room, and Jaskier nods into his chest.

“A lot better than I thought i’de be. Even if my instincts are still tugging at me.” Slowly, he feels himself properly relax into Geralt’s embrace. Tension bleeding from his body despite how his shoulder blades itched with the feeling of the wings being there.

“You’ll settle soon.” Geralt presses a kiss to his mouth and Jaskier pushes into it.

“Thank you again, for today. It meant so much you all helping me and being friendly and everything.” For once, he’s at a loss for words and as he flouders he hears Geralt chuckle at it. “Shut up. I’m just grateful.”

“You don’t need to be. We love you. I love. My dragon.”

“Ah my darling.” Jaskier purrs, tightening his hold around Geralt’s waist. Wanting to be as close as possible. “Love you too.”

-

The rest of the winter season is spent comfortably. He doesn’t shift again, but he doesn’t feel the ache to either yet, so he’s content not to. There are questions of course, seemingly endless questions about what it felt like, did it hurt changing, where did his scales go? A lot of the questions he didn’t have answers for, but nobody seemed to mind. They even manage to start on finding out how to make a saddle work, and Geralt is eventually roped in to help given it would be his say so if things were safe enough or not. 

Even without materials to try things, they manage to make a few models from old scraps of leather and a wooden dragon model that Vesemir produces. It looks exactly like Jaskier, and when he looks up in question all Vesemir does is shrug.

“We all have our hobbies.”

So while it’s not a true size match, they manage to make a good few models before the season ends. They all have jobs for it too, a list of materials to buy and the bring to Kaer Morhen the next year. And in that is a promise of return that Jaskier knows makes them all feel better and lighter within themselves.

-

The last week is spent without training. Spending the days tending to the horses and cooking together, eating in front of the fire or lounging.

It’s a mess when they all cook together. Seemingly not enough space in the big kitchen, but it’s mighty fun.

It’s early in the morning given that the meat had to be cooked for most of the day. And Jaskier isn’t sure why they’re all up yet given the prep work could be done later but he doesn’t question it.

“No! You have to, move over you bastard!” Lambert shoves Eskel away from the large stove with his hip, almost pushing him directly into where Ciri and Jaskier had been preparing the vegetables. She was washing and peeling them while he was dicing and adding them to the large pots that were waiting to be put on the stove. 

Vesemir and Geralt had been tasked with making the few sauces and gravy given that between them neither could really cook meals that weren't stew that well. So they had been relegated to a spare bit of counter space where they could add the stock and appropriate herbs to a pan that’s almost as big as the one for the veg. If Jaskier focuses he can hear them bickering quietly, and he smiles to himself over it.

“Stop being an idiot.” Eskel snides back, bringing Jaskier back to the conversation before taking the tray out of the oven to try and rotate it again. It wasn’t the largest oven out there which was why they had a problem given they were trying to roast an entire hog. Why they didn’t just spit roast it Jaskier didn’t know. He had asked, but had just gotten a few gunts back about the flavour being too bitter or whatever Lambert had been waffling on about in between his back and forth with Eskel.

“Boys.” Vesemir snaps and they both huff but take a step back. The tray was too big, and they had been trying to fit it in.

“We could split it in two. Switch out the pans every hour. So then they’ll cook evenly.” Lambert suggests after a moment and Eskel nods.

“I’ll find another tray.”

“I’ll hack into this.”

The rest of them watch in morbid fascination as the two manage to hack the hog in two and put the pieces into separate trays. 

“Gross.” Ciri mutters into his shoulder from where they were still prepping the mountain of vegetables and he giggles.

“Absolutely disgusting. But it will taste good later.”

“Hopefully.” She eyes the two witchers suspiciously, and Jaskier understands when he looks over. They were both doing separate things to their trays. Adding different herbs, and a completely different amount of oils and lard, Eskel seems to forget salt exists up until Lambert pushes it his way and Jaskier grimaces over to Ciri.

“Guess we’ll see.” He waves a hand to get their attention. “Do we really need all this veg?” It’s mostly root vegetables given the majority are foraged. But Lambert had made a trip to the local town a day over to get them ‘something special’ and had come back with vegetables that weren’t exactly in season. Jaskier suspected magic, but none of the other witchers seemed to care so he had pushed it out of his mind.

“Yes.” Lambert and Eskel snap at the same time before Lambert continues.  
  
“We’ll make them last the rest of the week.”

“Fine. Guess we’ve got what.” He eyes the pile of vegetables still left over. “Another seven or eight years to do. Come on Ciri. Let’s make the best of these years and get them done.”

“How come Geralt and Vesemir get the easy job?” Ciri whines, not three minutes into their continued prepping.

“Because they can’t cook for shit.” Eskel laughs, and from Geralt and Vesemir’s murderous glares Jaskier guesses he would be outside in the cold if it weren’t for the massive carving knife he was holding.

“Fuck off Eskel!” Geralt just shouts instead before grumbling something to Vesemir as they go back to stirring.

The prep only takes another hour, and after they’ve washed up the rest of the day is spent playing gwent and napping, letting Lambert and Eskel finish off the food.

That evening their feast is huge, and they all tuck in with reverence. Everything tastes better given that they cooked it together, and their spirits are high. Even the gravy and sauces are good, and they make the meal last for hours, sharing bits of meat and funny stories that seem well worn and told often given how many times other people chip in to tell them.

It’s wonderful.

-

They all hunt one last time. Or, Ciri and Vesemir stay back while the other four hunt.

It’s vicious, and quickly turned into a competition that Jaskier revels in. Thankful that they’re not treating him like some wilting flower or a slower human. Lambert is the only one who sizes him up properly though while they’re scouting. Given that he was the only one who had hunted with him like this.

There’s still snow on the ground, given they were so far north. But it’s only up to their ankles and not their knees which makes tracking both easier and harder. Harder in that the tracks have turned to mush by the time they get to them, but smelling out the animals is easier. And it’s only an hour of scouting before they find the trail of a group of wild hogs.

Six of them are foraging, tossing dirt and slushy snow around with their tusks, none the wiser to the witchers and dragon that’s watching them. Crouched there in the bushes, they all get their bows out, feet in a position to give chase. Hogs were bastards, so they had to be ready.

Geralt takes the lead, gesturing a countdown, eyes steeling themselves. And Jaskier waits, eyes focusing in on one slightly off to the side where he knows their arrows won’t cross paths with his, and lets an arrow fly at the signal Geralt gives.

And then again they’re running at the sound of the pigs squealing, giving chase. And they’re running so fast that Jaskier almost feels as if they’re flying. He dodges the trees and weaves around them, spinning and flinging himself towards their goal with reckless abandon. Lambert howls, loud and long and Jaskier beams against the wind, letting out a roar of his own that’s not half as impressive as it is in his dragon form but feels good to let loose in his chest nonetheless.

His vision zero’s in as he runs, keeping up with the witchers as they howl around him, laughter filling the air as they speed through the trees. He manages to get close to the hog he shot, and even to his own surprise, he tackles it rather than shoots it again, getting out his dagger to finish the job as he feels it writhe underneath him, burying his face into the back of the hog, almost biting as he slices. He should be disgusted, especially as the blood soaks into his gloves, but he smiles with glee, and he swears he feels the echo of fangs in his gums.

Ah. Dragon instincts again. He was more ruthless during hunts after a shift, even though it had been a few weeks ago. At this realisation he shudders. This instinct wasn’t one that came up often given his hunts were usually small and quick. He gets up onto his hands and knees shaking. 

This wasn’t him.

Shifting was all well and good, but it often brought about feelings like this. Feral, horrible instincts that he didn’t want to be a part of him. Be associated with him.

The rest of the group find him not minutes later, shaking and near tears.

“Geralt, take care of him. We’ll get these.” He hears Eskel say, and then strong arms are around his shoulders as he washes his face with the snow and stands.

“I fucking hate being a dragon.” He mutters to Geralt as they walk back, and says nothing else for the rest of the walk.

When they get back he gets a quick bath, washing the metaphorical blood off of his hands as best he can. They had to hunt, they had to eat. But that wasn’t hunting, and it wasn’t even just a chase like the first time he had hunted with Lambert. That was something completely different. He had felt the want to rip it’s throat out with his teeth bubbling in his gut and he’s surprised he managed to not to do it.

After he’s finished he goes downstairs to find Eskel and Lambert curing and drying out the meat so they can easily take it on the road. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He says as he goes into the kitchen. “My dragons instincts, they took over.

Both glance over and shrug but smile. “Hey, ‘least you’ve got an excuse.” Eskel starts. “Some people hunt like that just because.”

“I, yeah.” He knows they do. But they weren’t dragons. Monsters. “They’re not monsters though.”

“Ah come off it.” Lambert snorts. “You’re as much of a monster as we are. Don’t get maudlin now on us you bastard.”

“Yeah.” Eskel nods, and all Jaskier can do is nod back.

“Alright, thank you.”

“Shut up, go and sit down or something. Stop moping.” Eskel shoo’s him out, and with a smile and something easing in his heart, Jaskier goes back to sit at the table with Vesemir and Ciri.

Vesemir, it turns out, was teaching Ciri how to whittle, a small blade in each of their hands and a block of wood.

“No, you have to do it away from you so you don’t accidentally stab yourself.” He chides gently and corrects her hands, and Jaskier spends the next two hours watching them work.

It’s mesmerising, watching as he teaches her how to turn what is essentially a lumpy stick into a horse. Because apparently, Ciri had wanted to make Buttercup given that, and Vesemir had said this quietly, he was making a Roach for Geralt.

The entire thing warmed his heart, and he had settled in comfortably across from the pair to watch and listen, lulled into a quiet calm as he listened to their quiet chatter and the sound of blades on wood. It brings him back into his own head properly which he greatly appreciates, and he even finds he learns as he listens to Vesemir talk. Although it’s more life lessons than whittling ones.

“Hmm. That’s why you don’t sleep on wet ground without a layer. Because mold can literally grow on you and it’s fucking disgusting.”

Jaskier shudders then as Ciri giggles. “What’s a little mold between friends?” She tilts her head, something she had learnt from Geralt and he reaches out to gently cuff her around the ear.

“It’s gross is what it is.”

“Ah you’re just too fond of baths.” Ciri sniggers and he sighs.

“Geralt really has influenced you far too much young lady.” Quietly, he thinks about her growing up in the courts with Queen Calanthe, and realises that her rough and ready attitude had started well before Geralt had found her.

“It’s disgusting.” Vesemir interjects. “And i’m a witcher. So I know what real disgusting is.”

Jaskier snorts then, because witchers really did. “I’m gonna take your word for it.”

“See that you do.”

Jaskier wasn’t aware he had fallen asleep at the table, listening to the pair carry on talking and whittling until he feels himself get picked up. He smells that it’s Geralt, the mixture of worn in leather and thunderstorms hitting his nose so he settles into the arms and lets himself be carried to bed. Feeling a lot better than he had hours ago.

-

Their last day together, all of them, is spent inside surrounding the fire. All crammed into the seats or on the furs by the hearth. They were leaving first, needing to head to the nearest town for supplies before travelling again. They couldn’t stay in one place too long, even Kaer Morhen. The others would leave within the days after, with Vesemir leaving last. Apparently he always had to be the last to leave.

In the morning, Vesemir presents them all with a small wooden carving. Almost acting shy as he handed them over. Obviously, Ciri had worked to open him up to just like she had done with Geralt. Jaskier couldn’t imagine Vesemir doing this five years earlier. Especially given the surprise on the other witchers faces.

He gets a lute, one carved just like his own only miniature and it takes all he has not to throw himself at Vesemir in thanks like Ciri had. No amount of softening over the years would prepare the elder for that, he doesn’t think. So instead he nods his thanks and holds it close, the wood soft in his palms.

Geralt gets the smaller version of Roach that Vesemir had been working on and had gotten up to clap Vesemir on the shoulder before sitting down, silently thumbing over it. None of the witchers tease like they probably would have done if the situation was lighter. But the presents had come as a shock, and they had been sleepy and quiet around one another. A quiet and comfortable heaviness wrapping around them like a blanket as they spent time in one another's company.

Jaskier suspects that the years hadn’t always been like this. In fact he knows, given the state of the rest of the castle. And he knows that the first year Ciri had been here had been full of intensive training. But now that she had a handle on the basics, and just needed to build her skills up, he suspects they allowed themselves to become a little lax, a little more comfortable and uncaring about strict routines. Maybe they just wanted a break from what the old Kaer Morhen was like. And Jaskier would never blame them for that.

He takes up residence in front of the fire, lute in hand the whole morning. Writing small snippets of jigs and limericks and sometimes things that he knows will branch off into more, about the witchers surrounding him.

_“Ah the oldest and wisest,_  
_only some would say._  
_You get him at his wisest,_  
_On every pay day!”_

He warbles out the last word, laughing when Vesemir throws a cushion at him with a growl, catching it and tossing it back. “They’ll be singing your praises oh oldest wolf I promise!” He laughs, yelling loudly when Vesemir stands only to pick him up and hang him upside down like they all frequently did with Ciri. “UNHAND ME!” He yells. “GERALT!”

“No, you asked for that!” Geralt actually giggles, slapping at Eskel beside him who's in stitches.

“That’ll teach ya.” Vesemir growls before dropping him down. He barely manages to avoid hitting his head, hands coming out to catch himself just in time. “Oldest wolf my arse.”

Jaskier has to bite his tongue not to argue back, and also to stop himself from smiling. Instead, he huffs indignantly, picking his lute back up. “Just for that i’m not helping with lunch.”

He doesn’t help with lunch, given that it’s more of a free for all of grabbing things like a buffet. Apparently the best food had been saved for dinner. He tries to get Geralt to get him a plate of food but it doesn’t work.

“Please?” He asks, fluttering his eyelashes as Geralt stares at him, face blank.

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.” He goes up then to get his own plate, leaving Jaskier pouting for a few minutes until he drags himself up. Ignoring the laughter from Eskel and Lambert who just sticks his middle finger up at, as he piles a plate full of food.

“Scoundrel.” He huffs at Geralt who was settling into a chair at the table and once he has his own plate and settles beside him.

“It didn’t work on me back then, it definitely doesn’t now.” Geralt huffs, but he knocks their legs together under the table and lets Jaskier lock their ankles together which means that it definitely did a little bit.

Ciri kicks him under the table, a lot gentler than she usually does to get his attention only to stick her tongue out at him and gag. “Gross.”

“Ah you say that now, but when you get a partner-”

“NO!” He’s interrupted by Geralt’s yell and it has both him and Ciri snorting with laughter after a shocked pause to recognise what he’s done, pounding on the table at his shocked and disgusted expression. “No partners! Never! Ever!” Trust Geralt to be that kind of guardian.

Jaskier, still laughing so hard his sides hurt, leans forward across the table. “It’s okay Ciri. You can always talk to me about that stuff.”

“JASKIER! DON’T ENCOURAGE HER!”

Jaskier just ignores him, laughing harder, waving a hand to Ciri for her to grasp and hold on to as she laughs herself hoarse.

“It’s unavoidable lad.” Vesemir nods to Jaskier and Ciri. “You just have to accept it-”

“NONE OF YOU ARE HELPING!”

“Oh they’re doing juuuuuuuust fine.” Lambert chuckles. And they leave Geralt sputtering until eventually he goes back to his usual silence, glaring at them all as he crosses his arms like a petulant child, which only makes them laugh for even longer.

After lunch, Jaskier hands his lute over to Eskel. His hands are still clumsy, but he had practised a lot, so while his hands seem to dwarf the instrument he’s able to play pasably. Nobody would be amazing after a few weeks, but Eskel does well, and Jaskier watches proudly.

It’s an elven lullaby, befitting for the lute’s elven construction. Eskel had wanted something tricky, because all witchers apparently needed more challenge that most would want no matter what they did, and the lullaby had come to mind. It was a pretty piece, with a few sections of plucking that Eskel had struggled with initially, although the proud beam he had sent Jaskier’s way when he had learnt it had been worth it to both parties.

He plays it well, given it’s pretty short and he had been working hard. So he plays it a few times over, letting Jaskier sing the lyrics as he played. He had refused point blank to sing along himself, but Jaskier was happy to fill in.

“Maybe I should have taken up that professor position at Oxenfurt.” He muses quietly once Eskel is finished, clapping as Eskel beams at them.

“You could have been a professor?” Ciri turns to him, chin instantly in hand, expecting him to launch into a story and he pushes at her face gently at the tease. 

“I could have.” Eskel hands him the lute back and Jaskier settles it on his lap, back warming from the fire as he sat on the floor. He plucks a few of the strings before glancing up, seeing everyone watching him. His gaze lingers on Geralt whose sitting back, his own gaze heavy and intent. It takes all Jaskier has not to blush “I had just graduated, with honours may I add. And they offered me a place. I had been tutoring some of the younger students for years at that point so they thought it would be a logical next step.”

“So why didn’t you take it?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier looks over, smiling.

“I wanted adventure. To be further away from my family, as far away as I could be. Oxenfurt was still too close, even if I was safe within its walls. And then I met you.” He shrugs. “And the rest is written into ballads for history to look at when we’re gone.”

“You need to write a ballad about that in itself.” Eskel says into the quiet that follows, although Jaskier doesn’t break his gaze from Geralt’s, just continues looking, letting the attention wash over him as well as the smile Geralt eventually sends his way. Soft and happy.

“How about you try.” He breaks the gaze eventually, head tilted to Eskel. “Start a second career. Earn some extra coin. The witcher bard!” He throws his hand out dramatically, spanning it across an imaginary sign. “Eskel! The witcher bard!”

“As if he fuckin’ could. Doesn’t have the patience.” Lambert sneers. “Someone would look wrong in his direction and he’d have ‘em!” Eskel laughs along then, and he’s nodding.

“Yeah. I’ve seen the way bards can get treated, i’de fuck people up if they acted like that. At Least as a witcher you know you can scare ‘em just by pointing to the swords and people will go running.”

“Yeah, not so much for bards.” Jaskier tilts his head. “It’s all part of the job though! Sometimes they throw food and then you’ve got your meal for free, so!”

“Yeah, I think the first time I met you people had been throwing food. You said something about bread in your pants?” Geralt’s smirk is ruthless in it’s teasing and Jaskier squarks, reaching over to smack at Geralt’s leg.

“Stop revealing my embarrassing moments!”

“And whose to think all these years later you’d still be here. A constant thorn in my side.” He’s still teasing, something akin to their usual back and forth except this time Jaskier is sure there’s a flirty edge to it if the way Geralt is raising his eyebrow is anything to go by. He had learnt all of Geralt’s wordless mannerisms by now, and that was definitely him flirting.

Although he should expect it, given the raised eyebrows and casual touches and jabs were becoming a lot more flirty as Geralt settled into the relationship. Jaskier was hoarding every little moment while he could.

“Fuck off!” Jaskier smacks him again before falling dramatically to the floor. “All of you are bastards. Except you Ciri, obviously. But the rest of you are absolute bastards.”

They bicker like that until dinner, whiling away the hours with their stories and teasing as tales from the witcher early years arise, much to Jaskier’s delight as they try and one up each other with the embarrassment.

“He fell! Completely on his ass! Spilt the fucking soup all over our potions instructor at the time and then vaulted across about four tables so he wouldn’t face his wrath!” Lambert is booming with laughter, hand reaching out to steady himself on Eskel as Geralt actually blushes, scowling as hard as he could in the other witchers direction.

“And then!” Eskel chimes in. “He almost makes it, but catches his foot on a chair at the last table, completely falls over face first, his pants split, but he doesn’t fuckin’ stop! He just scrambles up and runs out to go hide in the stables!”

“You wouldn’t want to face him either!” Geralt cuts in, pointing a finger at Eskel. “Fuck, you ran from fuckin’ whats his name? The archery guy-”

“He held arrows to our throats on innumerable occasions! You’d run from him too if you’d just accidentally shot him-”

Ciri had joined him on the rugs at some point, their heads following the conversation as they listened, oohing and ahhing in all the right places and laughing in the wrong ones depending on who you asked and whoevers story was being told just then.

Vesemir snorts at them every so often, shaking his head at their stories and when Jaskier looks over he just rolls his eyes. “They’re still fucking children.” His lips are twitching at the corners though, and Jaskier doesn’t bring attention to it.

The stories continue through dinner, bringing their food to sit by the fire and eat. Leftovers from the days before that Lambert had disappeared into the kitchen to make taste amazing, cooking them differently to create entire new dishes. The stories get a little softer as the drink flows, and even after they’ve finished they all stay up for as long as they can.

The conversation flows easily, although it starts to fade as they tire. Ciri ends up asleep on the rugs with her head in Jaskier’s lap somewhere towards the early hours, and Jaskier uses taking her to bed as an excuse to go to bed himself. Letting the witchers have one last time alone without either of them listening. 

They probably had things to talk about without people listening in, and Jaskier didn’t really want to hear it. So he picks Ciri up carefully, and with an awkward little head bob and a ‘goodnight’ goes upstairs to put her to bed.

She wakes up a litle just as he’s tucking her in, groggily reaching out to grab at his hand.

“I wanna stay. S’nice here.”

“Me too sweet pea.” He kisses her forehead. “But we’ve got more of the world to see.” 

She nods, sleepily accepting his comment, and he hangs onto it as he leaves her. Going back to his and Geralt's room. Because it really had become theirs over their stay.

The words echo around his head as he enters, so instead of getting straight into bed like he plans he goes to find his notebook to jot down the words and melody that springs to mind along with it. His lute was still downstairs given he couldn’t bring both that and Ciri up at the same time, but he couldn't be bothered to go back down and get it so writing down the chords would have to do.

After all, he could tell this was the start of Ciri’s lullabye. Maybe her ballad. But he knew it would be something special.

Geralt finds him hours later, still up and scribbling frantically by the fire, hair probably in disarray as he ignores the sound of the door opening and closing.

“Jask?”

“Gimme a minute-” He scribbles out the last word.

“Want me to go get your lute?”

Jaskier looks up with a beam. “Please.” 

Geralt’s already halfway out the door and Jaskier goes back to scribbling, smile still on his face.

He spends another half hour on the song. And while he’d never play it in any courts. Not yet, it needed a year or two of work probably, he was very happy with his first draft. He turns when he finally sets his lute down, stretching and flexing his hands to find Geralt watching him from the nest. 

He’s wrapped up in the blankets, leaning on his forearm as he watches and he smiles, slow and tired when he finally catches Jaskier smiling.

“Finished?”

“For now.”

“Come to bed then.”

“Hmm. I won’t have a nest like this for a while.” Jaskier stands, shedding all but his smallclothes before going over to climb into the nest next to Geralt, curling up around him.

“As soon as we get an inn, we’ll make you another.” He curls into Geralt’s open arms, smiling against the man’s chest as he feels Geralt nose at his hair. He’s running his hands up and down Jaskier’s ribs lightly, fingertips tickling as they trace patterns into his skin.

“Want to make the most of having a room to ourselves before we don’t have one for ages?”

“Fuck yes.” Jaskier giggles as Geralt growls and rolls them over, feeling warm and safe under Geralt’s weight.

He goes to reach out to push the good blankets off the bed, a habit he had gotten into since they started fucking, but can’t seem to find them.

“Hmm, put ‘em away.” Geralt huffs, before starting to mouth at his neck and Jaskier beams again, arching into him.

“Oh, good.” Geralt hums, and Jaskier can feel him smile at the thin skin of his adams apple before there’s the sting of pain when Geralt bites him and he arches further, eyes slipping closed as he moans.

Geralt’s already hard and insistent at his hip, rocking down as he peppers Jaskier’s neck with kisses, nosing at his collarbones to get his shirt out of the way before placing kisses there too, sucking and biting bruising marks into Jaskier’s skin, grunting with every satisfied moan that slips past Jaskier’s lips.

“Oil?” Jaskier eventually asks, hands already moving from where he had them tangled in Geralt’s hair to let Geralt sit up. He takes the time while Geralt has sat up and moved to rid himself of his underwear before settling back into place, hands going to the hem of Geralt’s shirt to try and tug it upwards as he revels in the weight of the man that’s straddling him.

“Hmm, my love.” He practically purrs, heat rising in his gut and prickling at his skin as Geralt huffs but obliges, sitting back down heavily on Jaskier’s lap, bottle of oil in hand from where he had gotten it from under the mattress. His shirt is off in a matter of seconds, thrown haphazardly away before he moves off of Jaskier, chuckling at Jaskier’s whine as he takes his pants off too.

“Shhh, my own.” There’s still laughter in his voice. “Let me open you first.”

Jaskier doesn’t reply, just reaches down to grab under his knees and pull his legs up, unashamed as his legs fall open as he keeps them there. He delights in how Geralt looks over him, eyes heavy and hot as his free hand goes to absently rest on Jaskier’s knee. Jaskier glances down and can’t help but lick his lips as he catches sight of Geralt’s dick, red and leaking already onto the blankets.

“Hmm, my own. Come on.” He gasps, rolling his head back and arching again just to hear Geralt growl, smiling when he gets the response he wants from the witcher. He hears Geralt uncork the vial and then feels a fingertip at his hole. “Oh, please.”

Geralt does as is asked, finger sliding in slowly as Jaskier gets used to the feeling. It’s not long before he’s fucking himself onto it though, and he whines when Geralt laughs and adds another finger.

Two slowly turns into three, and Jaskier just lies back and takes it as Geralt presses messy kisses into his neck, lying beside Jaskier pressed up against him, dick hard and leaking all over the bards hip as Geralt slowly ground against him in time with his fingers thrusts.

“Please.” He’s gasping against the blankets, one hand awkwardly anchored to Geralt’s shoulder as the other goes to his hair, pulling at the strands at the nape of his neck. “Your cock, please-”

Geralt hums against his cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead and then his mouth as Jaskier whines when he pulls his fingers out, the loss almost unbearable. He hadn’t even touched his dick, wanting to make this last, but with how Geralt had been grazing his prostate with every press of his finger’s he’d been close. That subsides a little with the loss.

“Hm.” Geralt hums, soft and amused when he climbs back between Jaskier’s spread legs, chuckling when desperate hands reach to hold on, one at his neck and the other around his back, nails finding purchase in scarred skin as he holds on.

“My dear, my love please.”

“Alright alright.” Geralt soothes, and Jaskier shouts at the feel of the blunt head of Geralt’s dick, shout bleeding off into a high moan as the witcher slowly starts to press in. Geralt moans, low in the back of his throat and Jaskier grips onto him harder, heels going to dig into his back to make him sink in quicker. It’s a few seconds before Geralt is seated fully in Jaskier, and when he is they moan in tandem.

“Mine.” Jaskier presses a possessive kiss to Geralt’s throat, lips moving to bite at the junction between his neck and shoulder, worrying at it and sucking at the spot until he knows there’ll be a bruise there. A bruise Geralt won't put any salve on because he was Jaskier’s, and would want to see the marks. “Mine.” Jaskier growls again. “Move.”

Geralt does, holding Jaskier as he rocks into him, the pair moving with such force Jaskier is glad they’re not on a bed seeing as though it would probably be banging against the wall with their force.

“Mine.” Geralt is whispering, over and over and over again into Jaskier’s skin and Jaskier feels the bolts of pleasure go straight to his dick every time Geralt whispers the word. Paired with the feeling of Geralt slamming into him, dick large enough it presses against his prostate with every thrust, he feels his orgasm build.

“Mine.” He moans back, throwing his head back to yell, moan getting louder still when Geralt latches there, high up against his jaw to suck another mark there, and Jaskier ruts back against Geralt’s dick at the sharp bite of pain. “Mine. My witcher. My own. My darling.”

“Yours.” Geralt groans, biting again. With that he comes, embarrassment at how quickly he came a vague thought in the back of his mind as he shudders through his orgasm, clutching tightly onto Geralt.

“Hmm, forgot you liked that so much.” Geralt laughs into his throat and Jaskeir slaps at his arms gently.

“Fuck off.”

“Never, my bard.” He hasn’t moved, waiting for Jaskier to come down. Always attentive.

“Okay move, fuck.”

Jaskier moans when Geralt does, thrusts frantic and sloppy as he curls into Jaskier, chasing his release as Jaskier lies there, arms loose around his shoulders unable to do more than clench down and whisper into his ear. “I’m yours. Forever. Always. Like you’re mine. My witcher, my Geralt. My own. My darling.”

Geralt comes when Jaskier places a soft kiss to the skin below his ear, grunting harshly and stilling as Jaskier warmed with his release. “That’s it.” He soothes. 

“Fuck.” Geralt hums against his sternum, giving himself a minute before pulling out. Jaskier whines at the loss of feeling, but he’s satiated when Gerat kisses him, moving his hips a little to get used to the feeling.

Without thinking he loosens one of his hands from Geralt’s shoulders, dipping it down to his asshole before wiping over his hole with a hiss, gathering some of the come before bringing it back up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers. “Taste so good my love.” 

“Fuck Jask.” And then Geralt is on his knees, only to shimmy down the length of Jaskier’s body to clean his stomach of Jaskier’s own release with his tongue. When he surges up to kiss Jaskier again they both moan at the taste of one another on their tongues, the tastes mixing into something that Jaskiers wants to fucking bathe in.

They kiss like that for a while, Jaskier relaxing under Geralt’s weight as they lie there. Almost lazy as they explore each other's mouth, licking the backs of teeth and tongues, nipping at lips and jaws.

Eventually, after what is probably an hour at least, Geralt gets up to clean them properly with a wet cloth and once finished, Jaskier pulls his favourite blanket around them, and they sleep. Deep and safe in each other's embrace.

-

Leaving Kaer Morhen is harder than Jaskier expects. They’re all packed, blankets safely tied to Buttercup and they have rations to last them for at least two weeks without having to hunt or buy more.

They’re at the large open gates of the courtyard, all gathered around Roach and Buttercup who seem restless and wanting to leave. Warmer weather calling them back onto the road.

“You need to buy yourself a lute and keep practising.” Jaskier says into Eskels chest, because out of all the witchers, not taking Geralt into account, Eskel was the one least likely to push him away when Jaskier hugs him. He’s surprised though, when Eskel just hugs back.

“I will. Probably.”

“I need to hear a definitely.” Jaskier breaks out of the hold, but keeps his hands on Eskels shoulders to look at him properly, stare holding the witcher accountable.

“Okay. Definitely.”

“Definitely what?”

“I will definitely get a lute and keep practising.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Jaskier beams, bouncing forward to hug Eskel again tightly before moving back.

“I expect a song written by the time I see you next year.” Jaskier turns so as not to hear his protest at that, winking at Ciri when she catches his eye as he turns to Vesemir.

“Thank you, for letting me stay.” He holds a hand out and Vesemir takes it, handshake warm, and Jaskier notes he even gets a smile this time.

“Thank you for entertaining us. And for looking out for that pair of knuckleheads.” He nods to Geralt and Ciri, both of whom frown and protest. Vesemir only chuckles at them both though, letting go of Jaskier’s hand to go and sweet Ciri into a hug.

“Bastard.” He turns to Lambert last. Nodding in fake sincerity.

“Bastard.” Lambert echoes, nodding right back at him and they stare at each other for a second in silence before breaking out into grins. 

“Stay safe wolf.” Jaskier clasps one of Lambert's hands in both his own, shaking it firmly and his grin widens when Lambert covers the back of his hand with his free one.

“Stay safe dragon.” He still gets a punch in the shoulder from Lambert after that, but it’s light and teasing and he gives one right back, the pair of them chuckling.

He knew they had to go. They couldn’t stay in Kaer Morhen forever. But he wanted to. He wanted to nest, and claim the space as his own forever. Build a hoard there, add to the growing pile of blankets and people to protect and love and care for.

Claws tug at his heart, dragon instincts clutching at his chest. There’s a pain there, a deep ache of sadness at leaving it all behind. But they need to go. To continue to travel and explore and adventure.

“Alright, let’s go.” Geralt calls once he’s said his own goodbyes, and Jaskier gets on to Buttercup without any complaints.

His heart aches, leaving what he now considers home. And it hurts even worse knowing they’ll be leaving the witchers. They weren’t bonded, but they were definitely family now, even if they didn’t know it. But, he thinks, as they ride away and the witchers wave until the trio are out of sight, that they probably did know and considered him family now too.

But still they leave, going down the way they came through the shortcut that apparently only witchers knew. Buttercup follows Roach as usual, the other mare having both Geralt and Ciri. Much like their way in.

All of them are quiet as they traverse the forest. They had a full day of riding ahead of them, the sun barely peeking through the trees as the cool morning air nipped at their faces. He knew that much like himself neither Ciri or Geralt wanted to leave either. So instead of breaking the somber mood by getting out his lute, he lets them settle into it.

Sometimes, things just had to be felt.

-

It’s nightfall when they finally make camp. Ignoring the closest town entirely wanting to make use of the daylight. Where they settle is more woods than a forest, one to the side of a well used main road that Jaskier knew Geralt would be watching all night for bandits.

He starts the fire manually, barely managing to remember not to use his breath and he shakes himself at the thought.

They weren’t safe now for any of that. 

“Oh Ciri. Did I tell you i’ve started on your lullabye?” She’s setting up their bedrolls while he gets the fire going properly, and Geralt is getting the things they needed from their packs.

“No?” She looks over to him, tilting her head to the side and he smiles at the gesture. She had picked up so many quirks from Geralt.

“Hmm.” He hums. “It could turn into a ballad one day I think, and it’s in it’s very early stages but i’ve got its skeleton if you want to hear it while Geralt prepares our dinner?”

“Who said i’m preparing dinner?” Geralt comes over, dumping the roll of blankets onto his and Jaskiers squished together bed rolls, fishing two out of the pile to throw onto Ciri’s before going back to the packs.

“Me. And you can’t say no to me. Especially since right now all the rations need doing is roasting to heat them up.”

“I can say no to you.” He grumbles, but he goes to get the rations anyway and Jaskier looks to Ciri before they both burst into giggles.

“I fucking can.” He mutters as they continue to laugh and he makes a show of ignoring them, even as he starts preparing the rations of dried meats that had been prepared the week earlier.

Jaskier takes the lute from his back, getting it out of his case before tuning it to his liking once again as he settles on the dried log he was sitting on. It takes him a minute to find the melody of the lullabye in his head but when he has it, he starts to sing.

_“She will travel the world_  
_Protect what is hers_  
_Heart beating fast_  
_Like a hummingbirds_

_Because bravery is soft_  
_Its acting even when you're scared_  
_Either facing dragons down,_  
_Or in the dark a kind word shared_

_She has grown and lost_  
_Gained things and then wavered_  
_And yet she still stands_  
_As she’s destinies favoured_

_Outgrow us I plead_  
_My dear sweet pea_  
_For you are still so young_  
_There's more of the world to see._ ”

He plays quietly, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention from either beast or human. Just in case either happened to be passing by. But the song called for a quietness to it anyway, and he smiles through his words as he catches Ciri and Geralt watching him. Both had their heads tilted, listening intently. And both looked rather fond, if he said so himself.

When he finishes with a dramatic little twirl of his hand they both start clapping, indulging him and he laughs.

“It’s not finished. Probably won't be for years. But-”

“It’s stunning.” Ciri interrupts him. “And you didn’t even sing about me shooting you in the leg this time.”

“Ah there will be a song for htat don’t you worry sweet pea.” He chuckles when she throws a twig at him. “But no, I think this might just be for us. For you.”

“Thank you Jaskier.” She comes over to hug him, curling up under his arm as soon as he’s put the lute down and he kisses the top of her head as she cuddles close.

He looks up to find Geralt still watching, soft smile playing over his features. “My love.”

The whispered endearment has Geralt standing, rations placed on his clean blanket before he comes over. He sits heavily on Jaskier’s other side, all of them giggling when the log cracks under their combined weight. Much like Ciri is curled under his own, Jaskier curls under Geralt’s outstretched arm, placing a light kiss to Geralt's chest before melting into the embrace.

Almost purring, he lets himself settle further into the cuddle pile. Having both of his bonded in his arms warms and comforts him to the core. They were still together so it was okay, they had one another and were safe. They were his and he was theirs, and everything was going to be fine.


End file.
